Four Blind Mice

‘Tis sad, a man with perfect sight
Choosing to be blind to a friend’s plight
Endless times spent looking forward to nothing
That we forget to turn around
And watch the other’s back
When we choose not to see the sullenness
Behind a laughter so hollow
That Alice could fall through to wonderland
When we go deaf to the silent pleas for help
Instead setting our sights so far
That we fail to notice a door ajar
On our faces pretentious masks of concern
Completely oblivious to a soul ablaze
A hope so lost in despair
Until the last scene has played out
The curtain has fallen closed
And the cast has taken its bow
Not until it is too late do the masks fall off
Leaving in its wake guilt and shame
Horror and mortification at our own fallibility
And where there once was five, there is only four
And that permanent icy ghale