Poetry

Onlooker to your own empty life, you try to conceal 
it was not that simple, to confess in silence. 
Pain was the first question, 
I give no answer. 
The smell of pungent sweat 
and levitating incense are entwining in the air. 
 
Seeking my own truth, I abandon the path 
and fall upon lies. 
The lofty drama of life unfolds. 
I was not seeking any labels. 
Devoid of sanity, the possessed people were dancing, 
around the fire without flames. 
 
Fear of infinity haunts me, 
I must answer to myself 
to solve the mystery. 
Of the fragility of my existence, 
amidst the sounds of stubborn, half-baked truths. 
This is, therefore a part of my poem, 
dedicated to a failing god.