Scorn

I see the mist clear,
A vision of something near.
I hear the sounds of joy,
Like a child with a newly received toy.
The idea seemed unfathomable,
Yet not to you.
Years passed me by,
Years filled with a lie.

The darkness closes in
Covering me with a blanket,
But it is a blanket that is not akin
To the humanity known by skin.
The blazing warmth,
A new rush.
A white lie,
A little hush.