Sunday, April 3, 2011

Verse III

Some scenes are a facade
To shield our inner monologues
Towering Christmas trees and lights and sounds
Conceal all complexities
The showiness, the only remedy
The glitz of the artificial 
Merges with the intangible reality
First thorn in their sides
From the tumbling greenery
On the threshold of the bubble
Blissful, trapped in ignorance
Like caged inside an ornament

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