I know a mask-maker
No really, I do
She crafts some to order
And ones she just wants to, too
She showed me one of her recent commissioned pieces
Of which she is duly proud
It’s a devilish red visage with raised sharp brow ridges
And it made me curse out loud
She showed me a skeksie from The Dark Crystal
Big weird bird beast, you know
And a brilliant satyr with a little beard thistle
Like Pan the old man-goat
I got to thinking, after show and tell was done
Thinking about the nature of masks
And how long I have been wearing one
What sort of a one you may ask?
The lie I’ve been wearing is a paradox, for
From behind it I spoke the truth
About subjects I otherwise fear to broach, or
I never would have taken up the ruse
But it seems to me I’ve had my say
From the safety of the charade
Yes, this seems the dawn of a new day
And I’ve doffed that mask by God
Turning it now, hollow as it is, to gaze upon fake face to real
I see that it’s ugly and beautiful, full of power and weak
When wait – what’s this odd sensation I’m starting to feel?
It’s the sun upon my cheek!
Oh, I love that closing when, mask doffed, one feels the sun on his cheek.
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there always comes a day when we feel how much the sun can worm a hollow cheek…. burn that mask!
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not quite ready to burn it just yet… but giving it a rest seems wise.
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I could wax lyrical about masks…but you said it all. And the last line sealed the deal, Good job!
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Such an incredible close on this one!
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I like the paradox in the lie, and agree with others about the moving ending.
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Mining the metaphor of masks so well.
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maybe we do not exist in the ways we are asked to, in the ways we ask to, in ways… maybe we ask, we wear, we hear, we are worn, are worried and torn we wear we weary we mask, our selves, our senses of self, identities, discontinuities, plays, roles, rolls, opinions, polls, we wear a weary and worn our worry and all the faces and places are layers of onion. onion onion onion all the way thru, a toast of tears
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