Everybody knows the seal is gleaming,
yet no one asks who polished it.
Everybody knows the frame hangs straight,
though the nail behind it gave way years ago.
Everybody knows the cabinet is locked,
but the key keeps passing from hand to hand.
Everybody knows the paper hangs high,
so it may be seen rather than examined.
Everybody knows the crimson stamp looks convincing,
like a painted sun upon a cellar wall.
Everybody knows the story is repeated,
until the echo begins to sound like truth.
Everybody knows a page has vanished,
yet the remaining pages are read aloud all the louder.
Everybody knows the gatekeepers are smiling,
whilst the questions wait beyond the fence.
Everybody knows the dust upon the shelf is thick,
though not as thick as the fear of blowing it away.
Everybody knows the birds sing in unison,
for the sky is safer than honesty.
Everybody knows the mirror is cracked,
yet they blame the face reflected in it.
Everybody knows the night grows longer,
but the lanterns keep on selling morning.
Everybody knows this game is old,
older than the players who come and go.
Everybody knows the truth has not been beaten,
it has merely been asked to wait at the very back of the queue.
And everybody knows,
when questions are treated with greater suspicion than answers,
what is being defended is seldom reality,
but comfort.
And everybody knows.
