The Ones Unaware

There is no sense in hiding.
What does one hide?
And from whom?

Formulated identities,
Are what they are.
And this people see.

What is hidden is not invisible.
An obviousness is there.
The only ones in hiding,
Are the ones unaware!

There is no sense in hiding.
What does one hide?
And from whom?

Misdeeds done...
Eventually come to bloom.
For all to see.
From those places no longer assumed.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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