The Mask of Many Faces
Some thoughts about the costumes we wear year round.
AUDIO: (click: hear the voice behind the words)
who masqueraded as a clown.
Upon his sleeve, he wore but false emotion.
His countenance bespoke everything – and nothing.
Perpetual sadness ensconced within,
his face slipped on the mask of the occasion,
the personage for whom designed,
or of the time, perhaps –
or of the moment, so inclined.
So often having changed expression
he stood now perpetually expressionless.
The face his own, or a mask?
No one, not even he, could tell.
An endless fluidity of persona, ebb and flow.
Harmonized not with appearance.
Deceived as much by appearance -
as appearance deceived.
White the cosmetic through which he sought unveiling.
Unburden for once and for all
the role he played
for which the world accepted him.
White cream produced white heat instead
though no amount of flame could shear the crust which overlay –
Rawhide replace where once stood beauty,
Tenderness of touch,
Warmth of smile.
Invention upon invention!
Fiction now ruled
and sophistry imprisoned him.
A sorcerer’s fate for a simple man.
Now no more a child’s idol –
employed at Mardi Gras.
Grotesque false face of carnival
Splendid thing – now lost.
Can fable save some touch of mediocrity
to mark the bounds of true complexion?
Perchance the tears of time
will wash away
what otherwise cannot be moved.