Poetry Time!

A cross sectioned house
Easily seen by all
The dolls inside
Controlled on a childish whim

Yet underneath
The perfect appearance
Hides a darker truth
No one ever sees

At night the tiny house
Comes alive
The dolls inside
Move in a flurry of colors

At night
They live their lives
The way they imagine
Life to be

All the while
Open to the scrutiny
Of the cruel unfeeling world
And yet the world sleeps on

Because in that perfect
Cross sectioned house
Night becomes day
And pretend becomes reality.