The Signs Of Secret Lives

Although, these days, we rarely remove our Elaborate masks, such is social pressure; The signs of secret lives that we create From hour to hour; from day to day Permeate our dream worlds and infiltrate Our waking consciousness. You could say That they are remnants from childhood's sweet haze. Is the rose in summer's garden more vivid In the memory than in actuality? Is our faith in the bright fables of Eden Merely a sham? These signs are rather fuzzy. They straddle the line between light and shade. O they move freely between what is real And what is imagined like a soft breeze. Intermittently, they pierce the cracks In our frozen masks and we're uplifted.