I wear many masks.
I put them on to face the world.
They are fitted to the roles I play,
Fulfilling expectations, right on cue.
I do not wear them to deceive.
They are not my armor.
They cannot protect me.
Nothing is so strong.
They merely hide my truth
From untrusted eyes.
I wear them because the world is harsh,
And I am easily wounded.
Unraveling Time
Desert Wind
Ploughman's Son
Ploughman King
The Year the Cloud Fell
The Spirit of Thunder
Shadow of the Storm
The Cry of the Wind
Beneath a Wounded Sky
Cryptogenesis: A Memoir
[…] pieces like Watching Ariadne, travel pieces like my a recent post from the beach, poems like Masquerade, or simple excerpts from […]
LikeLike
A good poem. Reminds me of Dunbar’s “we wear the mask”
LikeLike
I never read that poem (before today, that is–I searched for it based on your comment). There is indeed a lot of similarity, though my anguish doesn’t compare to what Dunbar felt during his lifetime. Many thanks for the comment and for the information on Dunbar’s poem.
LikeLike
For others wondering about Dunbar’s poem, here’s a link:
http://www.potw.org/archive/potw8.html
LikeLike