As a matter of fact
you are on to something.
The fact of the matter
is something is amiss.
Is it in the hypothesis?
No-positively not.
Ninety-nine times out of a hundred
or ten times in a thou-
what does it really matter?
We miscalculated the value,
somewhere-
the watch ran away with the moon-
explained in this extrapolated theory
that the influx of people penning
poetry is directly related to
the fast fading of fact, in fact,
the disappearing of deceptions by
professional misconception has
unveiled the real knowns and
now no one really knows.
Yet, the fact remains,
after all accounts have been accumulated,
matters like these have become buried
in crypts called His Story.
Cold and dormant, leaves upon layers,
monotonous markers
building, folding and compressing,
finally, erupting with sulfuric poetry.
Image by By Vihljun (Own work) Sakhalin Volcano mud 6/2010 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
