A trace I trace, with hasty lively pace,
A thread of sanity, so I shall find
A truth, a word, a proof, maybe a face
Or what can put to rest my lusty mind.
A mould I mould in which I try to see
What flies above the clouds of desire,
Justice is no longer great and free
As if its pillars are set on fire.
A write I write as if I seek and look
Between my own lines for what can lead me
To the secret I dropped in my own book
And sealed it with a lock, then lost the key.
I wonder when I reach the end of day,
If I find truth, and what truth has to say.
