Poem

My soul is at my own discretion,
wether it be tarnished or clean
the thoughts with which I ramble,
have no necessity for purity or stain,
only that they be true,
and truth can be either.
Darkness and light engulf me
shadow is but the darkside of flame,
I am more than I seem,
More than even I know,
and the darkness in me seeks the light,
just as much as the light in me shuns darkness,
while craving it to quench it's thurst.

Brutality is like fragilness,
and in it's own is fragile,
and either way I'm breaking,
while trying to seal my own cracks.
My soul is at my own discreation,
but wether that discreation be wise,
wether it be knowldegable and seeking in safety,
I know not,
and am not certain I care.