We stare through cracks of broken glass,
The days split into a million pieces.
Missing lens and crocked arm,
Textureless, distant dreams.
What are we thinking?
Our lives are blurred all day.
Why do we bare it?
A dream would not be as nice,
So why do we chose to live in one?
Wondering, aiming for the fog,
We trip and shuffle, but never fall.
A sin is in us,
But blindness is not a sin;
Ignoring evil is.
Repairing broken glasses,
It is not an easy task.
It means diverting from the masses,
No matter what people ask.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.