it is again

There are lies all about

And some of them

Eventually transmute into truth

But that truth, like so much

Cannot escape its origins

However deeply the glib patina

Of retelling is laid on.

And yet, that lie might have been,

At first utterance something meant

To provide another service

That truth was too cruel to be told

And the lie,

Softening degrees away.

But a lie is a lie is a lie

So many folk maintain

Their lips thinning as they maintain

They would never...

And there it is again.