Usually one puts on a mask

However, underneath my painted smile

And my dramatic frown

There is nothing.

I am a mask.

Many different faces have I

Layers of wood and colors

Surround my nothingness

Pile them

Two, three, six

At a time.

The crowd laughs at my sorrowful expression

Painted tears that never fall

Until they are replaced.

The audience, watching every move

Watching the flow of emotions

Embodied in these faces.

I am a mask.

But am I?

Surely there is something more

Behind my face I swear, there is nothing

I am just a mask.

My many faces protect me

From the demons,

I am a many faced God

I am thousand faced Sitatapara,

And four headed Brahma.

My million arms each hold another face

Wooden extensions of my soul

I am a mask.

When the performance is over

And the crowds leave

Still I dance on stage

Lives peel away from my faces

The floor is littered with veils

The masquerade is over

When the only mask left that covers my soul

Falls

I become a phasma

A bodiless spirit

So you see,

I need my masks

I am a mask

We all like olives.

All the content on this site, unless otherwise noted, is copyright {S.H.}.  If you would like to copy or repost any of it, leave a comment here first.