A Parable of Painted Truths

 

 

I. The Privileged Perspective

 

 

In my gilded cage of crystalline lies,

 

I dance with a pink ostrich 'neath opalescent skies.

 

My wheelchair gleams with polished pride,

While others' struggles I deride.

 

 

    Such delicious power in words that wound,

 

    Like poisoned honey, sweetly round.

 

    (For who would doubt a voice like mine?

 

    When privilege and pain intertwine.)

 

 

 

 

II. The Betrayed Friend's Lament

 

 

My cat lies suffering, grey and thin,

 

While memories of friendship wear so thin.

 

Twenty-five years of shared delight,

 

Now scattered like moths in endless night.

 

    No comfort comes from one who knew

 

 

    The depth of bonds between us two.

 

    Instead, she spins her gossamer tales,

 

    Of greed and need that never was.

 

 

        (The truth drowns in her waterfall of lies,

 

        While my beloved companion slowly dies.)

 

 

 

 

III. The Flood's Memory

 

 

 

When waters rose like serpents vast,

 

 

And savings slipped into the past,

 

 

Fifty dollars—thrown like crumbs

 

 

To one whose world had come undone.

 

 

 

    Now twisted into weapons sharp,

 

 

    These memories play a bitter harp.

 

 

    While trauma's tendrils grip my core,

 

 

    She stands and slams each closing door.

 

 

 

IV. The Ostrich's Warning

 

 

(In whispered, clicking tones)

 

 

Crikey, listen close, you privileged soul,

 

 

Your lies may seem to make you whole,

 

 

But like my feathers—once so pink and bright—

 

 

Your truth is bleaching in harsh daylight.

 

 

 

    Each fabrication that you weave

 

 

    Returns to make your world deceive.

 

 

    Until your words, though sugar-sweet,

 

 

    Lie rotting at your pristine feet.

 

 

 

 

V. The Universal Chorus

 

 

 

Truth echoes in the spaces between,

 

 

Where liars' words have never been.

 

 

Though silver tongues may sparkle bright,

 

 

They tarnish in truth's revealing light.

 

 

 

    For those who weave deception's dance,

 

 

    Lose more than just a passing glance—

 

 

    When truth at last demands its due,

 

 

    No soul will trust what once rang true.

 

 

 

 

VI. The Revelation

 

 

(In scattered whispers)

 

 

She walks in manufactured grace,

 

 

A mask of kindness on her face,

 

 

While underneath, the shadows crawl

 

 

And empathy begins to fall.

 

 

 

    The pink ostrich watches, knowing well

 

 

    Each fabricated tale she'll tell.

 

 

    Its feathers fade with every lie,

 

 

    Until all colour starts to die.

 

 

 

        For in the end, what's left to gain

 

 

        When truth becomes a source of pain?

 

 

        The liar stands in splendid gold,

 

 

        Believed by none, forever cold.

 

 

 

In memory of a cat who deserved more than silence,

 

 

And for those whose stories were twisted into thorns.

 

 

 

 

"Primum non nocere," a principle profound,

 

Not rigid law, but wisdom found.

 

In healing's halls, where choices weigh,

 

It guides the hand, but doesn't sway.

 

 

 

"ὀφελέειν ἢ μὴ βλάπτειν," a balanced plea,

 

"To benefit, or harm not," complexity's key.

 

Not black and white, but shades between,

 

Where modern medicine's challenges are seen.

 

 

The caduceus gleams, oft misunderstood,

 

While Asclepius' staff stands where healing stood.

 

Symbols twisted, meanings blurred,

 

Yet ethical practice remains undeterred.

 

 

In sterile rooms where decisions loom,

 

Doctors and patients dispel the gloom.

 

They weigh the risks, consider gain,

 

In partnership, to ease the pain.

 

 

 

Some peddle falsehoods, sweet and bright,

 

While truth seeks haven in the night.

 

But evidence-based practice stands tall,

 

Against deception's siren call.

 

 

"Primum nil nocere," evolving still,

 

Not perfection, but good faith's will.

 

To strive for best, while harm to shun,

 

In healing's never-ending run.

 

 

 

In research labs and by bedsides true,

 

Ethical minds seek what to do.

 

Through trials tested, with knowledge bright,

 

They pierce the veil of health's long night.

 

 

 

"To benefit, or harm not," the true decree,

 

A beacon burning, for all to see.

 

Not simple maxim, but complex art,

 

Where science meets the human heart.

 

 

With shared trust, respect held high,

 

Patient and healer together try

 

To chart a course through health's dark sea,

 

With ethics as their guiding key.

 

         "Primum non nocere," oft misapplied,

 

Not absolute, but a principle to guide.

 

In Hippocrates' time and modern day,

 

It's context and intent that hold sway.

 

 

 

The Greek, "ὀφελέειν ἢ μὴ βλάπτειν," rings true,

 

"To benefit, or at least do no harm," anew.

 

A nuanced approach, not black and white,

 

Balancing risks in healing's light.

 

 

 

The caduceus twined, with wings so bright,

 

A symbol of commerce, not healing's might.

 

Asclepius' staff, with serpent alone,

 

The true emblem of medicine, long known.

 

 

 

In modern clinics, where science reigns,

 

Ethical practice carefully maintains

 

A balance 'twixt benefit and potential harm,

 

With patient's values central to this charm.

 

 

 

Open communication, a cornerstone strong,

 

Where patient and doctor, together belong.

 

In shared decisions, they navigate

 

The complex paths that health dictate.

 

 

 

Some may twist ethics for selfish gain,

 

But true healers strive to ease pain.

 

With evidence-based practice as their guide,

 

They stand against misinformation's tide.

 

 

 

"To benefit, or at least do no harm," evolves still,

 

Not perfection, but good faith's will.

 

From rigorous study, and trials so keen,

 

True healing emerges, complex yet clean.

 

 

 

In healing's art, there's no guarantee,

 

But ethical practice sets conscience free.

 

With care and skill, and wisdom's light,

 

We navigate health's day and night.

 

 

 

Πρῶτον μὴ βλάπτειν, a principle misunderstood,

 

Not black and white, but shades of good.

 

Where healing's art meets science's light,

 

And ethical minds must choose what's right.

 

 

 

The caduceus gleams, a symbol misconstrued,

 

Where commerce and care are often viewed.

 

But Asclepius' staff, with single snake entwined,

 

Represents true healing, carefully refined.

 

 

 

In modern halls where choices weigh,

 

Doctors and patients find their way.

 

Through risks and benefits, they navigate,

 

Shared understanding they cultivate.

 

 

 

Some peddle cures with hollow claims,

 

Exploiting fears for selfish aims.

 

But true healers, with knowledge sound,

 

On evidence their practice ground.

 

 

 

"Primum nil nocere," a guide, not chain,

 

Encouraging thought in health's domain.

 

Balance sought 'twixt act and pause,

 

For healing's not without its flaws.

 

 

 

In research labs and by bedsides too,

 

Ethical minds seek what is true.

 

Through trials tested, their wisdom grows,

 

A beacon bright as knowledge flows.

 

 

 

ὀφελέειν ἢ μὴ βλάπτειν, the call remains,

 

For those who heal, not those who feign.

 

In partnership with those they treat,

 

They strive to make care more complete.