Blind

It's a word that describes everybody.

A man walking,

With a stick by his side.

Swinging it left and right,

Matching his stride.

On his face are some glasses,

Dark and Black.

And as you walk by,

It's best to stand back.

He is blind,

Knows not what is there,

Not knowing what might be

A hurtful glare.

But he is not alone,

For all are the same.

The truth playing hide and seek,

Although not a game.

We see a smile,

Nice and bright,

But the person behind it,

Infected with blight.

They walk standing straight,

Showing not the slightest pain,

Yet many knifes in their back,

Feet tied to a chain.

But they keep on walking,

Not knowing their constraint,

Everything they know

Is not true, just covered in paint.

They smile as the light

Enters their eyes,

But not prepared

To discover the lies.

They live their life,

With a peaceful state of mind,

But in reality,

They are blind.