About the Truth

About the truth, it has always been -
about the long road to all feeling.
Is not it what I have asked for, kneeling?
Is not it what has but made me sin?

Rowing my breath down the nothingness,
riding the dwindling presence of it, 
I’ve hunted the truth in every bit.
Scavenger, stooge, scribe, and poetess!

And my own truth that I long to be treasured!
Memories, that now spell differently!
Truth, labyrinthine. Truth, that gently 
reaches you, a snowflake, small, yet measured.

And at times, the truth is only a myth -
lost in its echoes, I die, a wordsmith.