In the myth of science
there are all the beautiful stories
you could ever wish to contrive.
In the religion of science
there are the stiffly clasped
doctrines of zealots.
In the science of science
there are symbols, and arguments
over the meanings of things.
But we are still the people
as we were the people before,
hearing fragments and rumours,
pasting them in to the pastiche
of our fears, our dreams
and the myths we’ve believed.
Yet another relentless turn of the age
sees misunderstandings told,
preached as the truth,
our power deflected from self
and put to Gods of numbers
and statistics, pushed away
from the heart’s human yolk
that weeps to discern truth
from confusion’s intellectual maelstrom.
Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2016
distilledvoice 
A really interesting poem; but even if we could discern truth today, in an ever changing world, is it likely to be true tomorrow? Fortunately, the magic of Spring, especially on a day like today, is a truth that doesn’t seem to change.
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I suppose I’m indicating towards an innate truth tather than the fleeting. Too true about the glorious day!
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