To Be Seen and Not

Within the eyes of every person,
There lies different forms of passion,
From the love of curves and swells,
To the sights of romantic tells,
But mine do not seem that normal,
For the pattern is nothing formal,
Its nothing odd, nothing strange,
But I have heard the word deranged,
For my eyes do not see the skin,
But the beauty which lies within,
Unlike the people I always know,
Who see only the attractions of show,
That daze the eyes into a glance,
That has been foolishly called romance,
For those fools I do wish for them,
To not be burdened or condemned,
And for them to find love,
Without the masks they found above,
For I too have that dream,
To find the love it seems,
But I cannot love those masks,
That hide the truth, perhaps,
And maybe I will escape this pit,
Of depression and sorrowful mitts,
And know the truth behind love,
And the sight of the flying dove.