i.
Look at me.
What do you see?
That isn’t me.
Look again.
You see the man.
You don’t see what’s within.
Listen to my words.
Their call for accord.
A mask of sorts.
Listen to my meaning.
Its call for healing.
Hidden in manufactured feeling.
Taste the emotion.
Your heart all motion.
Fulfilling a function.
Taste the sweetness,
Of life and loneliness.
A mirror or something less.
Feel the tug on your soul.
Recreating something old.
Something you think I told.
Feel the fire in your mind.
Fanned by what I helped you find.
Something that was never mine.
But behind this sensory onslaught
Is what I’d like to introduce you to.
ii.
Openess:
Closed to all intruders.
Yearning:
Hidden by many masks
In this masque of life.
In this dumb-show.
In this rehearsal.
Where we play a part and grasp at words.
Openess:
Peaking out from under.
Yearning:
Permeating every task.
In this masque called life.
In this stage show.
In this curtain call.
Where the part conceals depth below the surface.
Openess:
Confined and torn asunder.
Yearning:
Arranging the pieces of fact.
In a proper masque without life.
In a play without drama.
In a comedy without humor.
Where each part is just a taste of the tragedy.
Openess:
Revealing unknown plunder.
Yearning:
Rich in what I lack.
In this masque of life.
In this movie madness.
In this final scene.
Where some parts make you feel eternity,
Beyond the sensory onslaught.
Deep inside the masque.
© 2012 Wasted Space Publishing
