Truly

The souls of empty promises Claim this world unfinished The eyes of this world See only the bad, never famished Disturbed and rewritten History is no longer spoken Without the one who speaks, spitting Complain and exaggerate Communication eradicated then revived If only for just a very long minute Impersonation is the patches that patch Pure linen to the point what once was comfortable now feels rough and diminished The hands were innocent for it’s not those that broke this world The cracks were set in place by a circle of words No light came to slice through this darkest Has it truly become dark as almost all suppose Or is it that we all claim to see only what we sometimes agree while our mind eyes remain closed.