Irony

Today I vow to shun all guise, To speak plain truth, no tricks, no lies. My words shall be direct and clear, Devoid of any smirk or sneer, A beacon of sincerity, Unmarred by falsefinity.

Yet as I pen this solemn pledge, A quiet thought begins to edge: If this vow itself is meant to show How deeply I detest the show Of saying one thing, meaning another— Then isn't this the very thing I sought to flee? The cruelest jest Is that my heart, against its best Intentions, proves the point I made: In seeking truth, I've only played The part I scorned. Oh, bitter draught! The soul's own wit is oft unhaft— It trips us up where we stand firm, And wears the mask we tried to worm Out of existence. So I cease This futile chase for peace and peace; Let irony have its small win, While I go make a cup of tea. (And wonder if the kettle's whistle, Blowing calm, is just a whistle.)