To be a truth but not The Truth

The grey and damp clouds seem like my insides
More truly how I feel and how I dream
The kidneys squeeze the abscess   of my  life

A feel of water,wisdom truth and lies
The holy spirit from the mountain  streams
The grey and damp clouds look like my insides

Post modern narratives each strive
To be a truth but not The Truth,it seems
While  kidneys sieve the poison from my life

Now there are no husbands, are there wives?
In bitterness the different groups each scheme
The grey and damp clouds ,Britain’s own insides

I try love once and then I try  it twice
I am very generous, what,I’m mean?
My kidneys sieve the poison from my life

What are atoms, what indeed are genes?
What are photons,where’s your mother been?
The grey pink of the  clouds  seems to deride
The  struggling kidneys  feel I am with knives