Masks

He's a man of the past and one of the present,

A man who hides behind a mask behind a mask;

A clown, a fool, believing it cool to be down

Or that the game is all about who laughs the last.

So he tells all his problems to his friends

And relations, exposes his neuroses to their view.

They accept as fact

Every masochistic mumble of his act;

How could they know what was false

And what was true?

Sometimes when he wakes

He feels he's walked into a dream

But all it takes

To remind him things are what they seem

Is the belief

That the man behind the mask can really dance

Pirouetting smile

He sees himself cavorting,

Pierrot for a while

Before aborting

To find relief

In the shelter of the dark, most telling mask.

After all the pantomimes are ended

He peels all the make-up off his face

To reveal, beneath,

The tears running all down his cheeks:

Alne, he opens to the world...

But it's much too late.

He's been left, in the end, without a face.