Snow is pure and fluffy sometimes
Unless it has been corrupted by pollution or someone’s path
If we were to examine it, what would we really see?
Not what falls from the sky, so pristine
Much like snow, people are deceivers
You see the outside and judge accordingly
But what you cannot see is the inside
Oh how we see what we choose to
How we fail to see through
That is the game of deceive and receive
No one is sure, but all stay blind
Willingly and noticeably.
MwsR ❤
Mws R Writings 