MASKS

MASKS

Oh, the mask you wear is bound to make me cry,

Hiding in your plaintive wail to the approaching autumn sky.

Soon it will be cool again, paper leaves afire,

Soon you shall throw me down again in the winter mud and mire.

And we will all chant songs of hiding in our tear ducts,

And we'll all paint our faces like happy braves in heat.

And we'll all sprain our hearts in wicked contortions,

While the power brokers grovel at our feet.

Oh, the masks we wear are bound to make us sin.

Too much self denial leaves us nowhere to begin.

I've hid behind convention and I've hid behind the rules.

I've dressed myself to walk a sexless hero.

I've blended into the brick walls,

Like Johnny Average in the schoolyard.

I have shaved my head and ducked behind the nameless, faceless fools.

And oh, the mask I wear is bound to make me cry,

Hiding in my plaintive wail to the approaching formless sky.

Soon it will be cool again, the paper leaves afire,

And you shall throw me down again in the winter mud and mire.

-Bruce Potts

Revised Copyright 2014

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED