Beneath the surface,
we're all the same.
Seeking out purpse,
running from shame.
We look through blackened glasses,
provided by the ones whom we call our friends.
They dim our lives,
and block out the truth.
It's right there in front of us,
and we could reach up and wipe off the soot.
If only somebody told us,
that what we are seeing,
is not real.
