orange on blue on black on white

things are not always as they appear.
on the outside, we are pure white,
a planet of peace, where war is absent,
where famine and pestilence are things
of another universe. but at the core,
we are hard black rock. a polished mirror
will show this, one that reflects through
the windows of the soul. look again,
see the blue sky ripped from a soured
planet, now orange, like hope stripped.
we need to see the future head back
to the garden before we were void
and without form, before deception was
as thick as greed slithering at our feet.