Real
Smoke and mirrors . . .
Flames to dust.
Beliefs are nurtured,
And often trust.
The minds will gather,
And hope is perceived.
When unions ally,
With boundaries deceived.
If vision is to question,
While answers evade . . .
Does truth remain hidden,
Beneath the shadows shade?
The remains seldom seek,
What confines its thread.
Leaving choice to random's path,
In search for daily bread.
Copyright © Timothy Mattson | Year Posted 2021
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