CELLOPHANE LIVES IN THE GRAVEYARD OF SMILES

Tossed by hate under the bed of approval's mattress
like so many other ill-fitting fragments of being meant to be forgotten
the eyes of these discarded souls
pierce the shadowy recluse to sense in its darken refuse
truths that were also abandoned from view by prejudice
as if they were old worn out shoes nobody cares to accept or use.

In piety's vain circus of artificial light
how often the glitz and shimmer of sanctimonious eye candy
sweetened by the putrid confection of conformity
blinds the mind with tradition's warm-fuzzy dazzle
while the vendors of the malevolent and ever lurking "they"
spend their time pontificating social prescriptions
from the little black books of judgmentalism
flagellating each other with their sacred cow myth icons
they claim produces a rapturous joy of restraining affliction.

Meanwhile, those rejected
find a path of inner release from their cells of discrimination
using a mourner's lace to decorate and bind their wounds
with the subdued flowers of tears blossoming in the mind's garden
blessed though regarded by some as being of no value.

Still seeing more deeply and intently veracity's purest gold
through the spiritual inhibiting transparencies
of stereotyped wrappings others intend to imprison,
ever learning to live by a greater light's joy
cellophane lives in the graveyard of smiles.