An end before it even began,
a touch to the start of falling dominoes,
In the eyes of a desolate living,
reflections of disparity plays out in frames.
Taking spilled out ink for boiling blood,
taking the crystals to be rocks in mud,
the pain in the smile is regarded for pride,
as the head held high is a facade of fright.
To the man who looks, with hopes for answers,
he see what he wants and see what he hates,
one look is all that takes to break,
there is no going back, its a merry chase.
Like a door from the fantasies, into a world of white,
with trees to the heavens and pigs that fly,
the truth is a seed- buried deep inside,
never looked for in this mirage of visions.
And among a million- stands a couple few,
the granted dream is guillotine,
against the needle-prick of the truth.
And they fight- a battle against themselves,
to find the way out of this maze of metal glass,
for when the mirror lies- it never speaks one word
it is the eyes that believe, and chant them alone.