A fog of fibers and polarized crystals

admits what we ask: the truth, no more.

Our lies are held on false pretenses

leaving our meanings to imagination

I try to reach for a meaningful phrase

I grasp, but meaning is sifted through

my fingers, left with longing clutch

to my own inferiority's complexity 

Our music plays from different shores

but just too far for harmony.

For now, we live behind the veil

and when we speak, I'm born again.