Fantasy is but facts gone astray.
Random memories,
pieced together in new ways.
An illusion of what truth should be,
if it were true and just.
A new world tied together,
with bonds of crafted,
silken webs of good and right.
But what has changed, truth?
No, still righteous movements,
test the strands,
until they slowly unravel,
and finally fall away,
to reveal but a dust of truth,
that a simple breath does move away.
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