Externally different colors.
Blue of many shades,
Brown of many shades,
Green of many shades,
Everything in between.
Protected by the blinking hairs.

Look past the beauty,
see the story line.
Only the oculars hide the truth.
But once cracked walls show,
the
slip
of the tragedy starts.
Our own gateway reveals our truth.

What lies past the eyes?
Put hands on her mother,
Who is a spitting image of her.
Seeing the innocent hurt,
with wicked word,
tinted
or bro   
        ken skin.

Invisible chains,
around wrists of those in the Limbo.
Latching on,
bringing them down into the abyss.
All falling near,
losing sight             of the light.

What hides the truth?
Seeing wrongdoing,
Seeing depleted hope—
desensitises.
Who hides it
is silently
f
   a
      l
         l
            i
               n
                    g.