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Happy faces gleam out at me
Happy faces in the brochure.
Their smiles trapped, their lips unmoving,
I can’t help but wonder
What isn’t being said.
I don’t know these people,
The people behind the smiles,
Their hopes and fears, their friends and kin,
I don’t know them at all.
What about the other times,
The times that they weren’t smiling?
Their cheeks wet, their hearts broken,
Why aren’t those times,
In your brochure?
Don’t lie to me,
And give me rose-tinted glasses,
Show me the best, show me the worst,
And then let me decide.
Author's note - this was the first poem I ever wrote which is why it's a bit dry
William Prothero
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