Facade

A short poem about our preference to believe in convenient lies over inconvinient truth.

Sitting on sand, watching the setting sun,
the world seems beautiful and serene.
Just as you see the beautiful carpet,
and not the dust that I swept underneath.

You came, you saw and you thought you conquered,
convinced that you had pulled off a perfect rescue.
I too played along and appeared cornered,
not letting you know that I was saving you.

Those unkind words and vicious deeds,
I assured you, had been all forgotten.
For you, it was convenient to believe,
the nice facade over the core that's rotten.