Never convinced I've been,
my sights were knives or ghosts;
to pass through souls alive or dead,
and get acquaint proposed;
for thinking always blind me;
maybe for only worse,
maybe for better even,
invest allowance first;
for dearly, I'd want
a deep dive in souls;
may shallow be or ocean deep,
for inside's best be known;
not insights of the outside,
not plastered thread of words,
even those painted portrait fade
the colors blurred by hurts;
but conversations work
unlikely from before;
my trust believes not much today;
for we know what's adored;
still, words shower though,
and pour whatever lures,
or daggers for curiosity
that'd kill me rest assured;
the truth of one's my trophy;
my medicine, my cure,
for doubts have dried my circuit blood,
but truth shall save what's yours;
but dive in too my falls and rivers
and lamp my lightest void,
inside my faith for poetry
does seek too earthly joys.
