Isn't Clean Dusty?

I cleaned the place, not a speck of dust left,

And then I stood on that spot,
A speck of dust on earth myself.

I dried my self, not a spot of water on me,

But water is what I am, more or less.

I write and write, though words fail me,

And try to explain whats inexplicable,

There are stories untold,

But then there are, words unformed as yet.

I plant a seed and look at my hand,

Its soiled and dirty, I wash my hand,

Amazing how we tell, dirt from dirt.

I rise from slumber, Sleep walking almost,

For what is all of this life,

If not an extension of my dreams?

I am free... or that I think I am,

For I am as free as the mind allows,

The black cat here, an eclipse there,

My mind conjures a trap every where.

Strong like a soldier, fighting for a cause,
Soft inside like flower, withering at little hurt,
I put up a face with many expressions,
Of Fear and Strength, of Tears and Joy,
Of Failure and Victory, of Mourning and Merriment,
Of Anger and Forgiveness, of Confusion and Assertiveness,
Of Hate and Love...
The many faces all at once.