Poetry

Dust to dust the soul, 
moves in a confined circle 
to preserve a death. 
The struggle of a truth to find, 
the space between the fact and fiction. 
Time comes to breathe in nihility, 
questioning the infidelity of violence. 
 
I do not want to avoid the revolution within 
let me use the knife to cut, 
the moments into filaments of sparks. 
I wanted to restrain myself, 
from committing the act of accepting the pain. 
 
The first truth remains the last truth. 
Winds of change cannot erase it. 
Right side of knowledge, 
and wrong side of fact were always in conflict. 
The sweet-smelling mask was baffled, 
crippling the mind. 
I craved only nothingness.