Particular Words in a Specific Order

I, a pilgrim of the god of truth, will tell you this prayer.

Veritas stands, trident in hand, proudly,
Each speartip a candle with flame burning brightly.
Next to liberty he poses.

His flames reveal all.
His silhouette frames endless knowledge.
His eyes pierce through deceit.

He casts no shadow.
He breaks no vow.
He allows no lie.

For there is no truth as Veritas,
No absolute reality besides that which he knows.
Veritas dismantles duplicity, slays simulacrum,
                                     Purges pretense.
The past, present, and future
Are three flames of a candle
Which sits atop the weapon he wields.

Slay Veritas, they say,
Slay him with lies.
Kill the truth and bury it
So that no more will it burn so fiercely.

Let us discover shards of his ceramic corpse and say that we have become God.

Let us grind his bones to dust and hold our world together with the clay it wets to.

Let us say, holding aloft a misshaped word taken from him, I have it!
This is the unfound truth! None other can be known!

Let us, when Veritas lie dead, kill one another, until all the words are held by one.
Until one can piece together his hand, his trident, his truth. And when then we see one piece of embered fact, let us shatter him again and flee in the warm glow of fear.

When the salty air began to corrode liberty,
Veritas lay slain.
When justice was made not just blind, but bound,
Veritas was eras-forgotten.
When equals were twisted round to be foes,
Veritas was in none.

All are made to prostrate before the space left by Veritas.
Both beholden and blinded by the blur that was his body.
Be present with us as we go forward, please, 
                                     oh Veritas.
Zenith of the real, light this path.

2023