Masquerade When the curtain falls and lights dim down, The Masquerade Man then wears his frown. Now that the world can see his open wounds, He shutters because they know the truth. Past his delicate façade and all the show props, His sheltered mask is bound to drop. But when intermission ends and the play begins, His role becomes his dissolution. He dances on stage with glorious presence, His affectation his only penance. The pleasure he brings to the eager crowd, Is plain in applause when he bows. But in the dead of night when no one is around He lumbers home without a sound. Home to his strife, Home to his pain. The mask comes off, and he stands in vain. In front of the mirror, viewing his scars. To him they are deep, not visible from afar. In the morning he makes haste and runs to the stage, Weaving through clarity, eager for play. Once he descends through the smokescreen, He knows that his demons can never be seen. The lights went on and the show began, Everyone make way for the Masquerade Man.
Posted on: Tue, 19 Nov 2013 23:40:45 +0000
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