Moon at Half Past Noon

We build our heroes tall and bright,
And polish them to shining light.
We give them simple, trusted names,
To hide from chaos and our shames.

We clean the story that we hear,
It comforts us and calms our fear.
We choose the easy, pleasing tale,
A solid ship in a wild gale.

But Truth won’t bend to what we need,
It will not help or intercede.
It lives inside the messy gray,
And will not ever slip away.

So what is lost, what is the cost,
When our belief is briefly tossed?
The hero’s tale, so grand and deep,
Is a lovely lie we cannot keep.

Beware the danger, sly and sure,
When one old idol cannot endure.
We simply find a new, fresh face,
To put the old one in their place.

We think we’re wiser, think we’re new,
But repeat what we were bound to do.
We trade one statue for another,
A brand new god, just like the other.

For Truth, though harsh and plain to see,
Sets our reality truly free.
To choose the hero, golden, high,
Is a beautiful building that must die.

But choosing Truth, however hard,
Is to drop your mask and your guard.
In that clear and honest air,
You see the world, stripped bare.
And though your hero takes the fall,
You build your life on something true for all.