Blue
The truth is what we make of it
Power doesn't make the sky seem blue
It simply is, take it or leave it.
Oceans have nothing to do with it
And the physicist's insistence on
Sunlight scatterings is largely irrelevant
The color blind see another kind of blue
Which is just as true
As the one we perceive
But deceivers
Never look up.
They sit in rooms
Hunched over desks
Yellowed by candlelight
Writing blue, blue, blue, blue
In massive tomes
That get translated
Into dozens of languages
Because once the truth
Is reduced to a word
The rest of the world
Demands a foreign equivalent
2/5/24
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