Toys and trinkets

Sometimes,
on reflection,
things are not as they seem.
In the spaces between the lines,
truth hides.

Someone's
empty gestures
strip away the meaning,
hidden just below the surface,
of lies.

Somewhere,
in the darkness,
we all grope and stumble,
trying to grasp the emptiness
inside.

Somehow
the illusion
advances from darkness,
drawing sound and fury, leaving
a void.

Some thing
nonsensical,
worthless toys and trinkets,
the forgettable and inane,
remain.