The Truth about Mr.Truth

Monsieur Vérité is his name

For being right, all the time, he is famed

Hard as it may be to be noticed

He perseveres to be heard

Shouts atop his lungs

Waves his hands up and down

Runs around in circles

Does what he can to garner focus

Most people deem him unsafe

They'd rather shun him away

Than endure his nagging purity

So instead, they throw obscenities

In attempts to get rid of him

He's as strong as strong can be

Tries hard to never fumble

The most earnest, the most humble

He adorns a long green robe

Trailing behind

It's a wonder he doesn't trip

His eyes sparkle like emerald drops

He's simplistic and to the point

Thrives on helping those around

Sometimes, however, he covers his face

With his long cloak

Refuses to show the world what he's made of

For fear of his worst enemy

Madame Faux

The cunning damsel who lures careless men

Into her treacherous trap

Of misery and a broken conscience

It's on days like these that the little man in green

Loses faith in himself

And hides away, while the wicked witch

Weaves her wand of sickening spells

He drags his helpless frame back home

And jumps into his warm cozy bed

Looks out the window, up at the sky

At the twinkling stars so bright

Finds his lost inspiration, once again

Rests his tired limbs and sore throat

After a long hard day of work in vain

Revels in the receding pain

Smiles himself to sleep

Knowing within his heart

That goodness and reality will never part