Our window

We've things invented to make us run
yet the open air we don't explore
to observe beauty behind a window of glass
becoming more isolated from ever before

We paint our faces in garish hues
but still call ourselves refined
our faces reveal a dazzling smile
but t ‘is an elaborate pantomime

sensitive to how we're viewed
yet others we closely scrutinize
our faults hidden under a bed of lies
yet for others we sensationalize

These days what titillates our fancy
is now a matter of personal choice
We abuse the good, and court the devil
our judgment's compromised

The End

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