The Mask – Poetry

The Mask

By J. A. Weymouth

 

A string of thought that is corrosive and intrusive

Is known to be cruel and enlightening – wide eyed and open armed

There is a colour in its mouth – heavy

If heavy was a colour.

 

The mouth is thick with words that do not spit

Words in plenty and enchanting

But they hold back.

We forget their feeling – their depth of spirit.

 

The thought is still there.

It is carried barefoot/homeless over the shoulders as it sinks in

Deep within, straight through that beaten one

Until the alcohol slurps a new idea that then, then it becomes buried.

 

I was buried

In that dark open eye

Through those listless words

Inside a heavy box

Behind an unchanged mask

Always unchanged and forever.

 

17 thoughts on “The Mask – Poetry

  1. Yes, we all live masked, sometimes in one forever and sometimes changing them as our lives and needs and wishes change. The trick is to be conscious of our masks and *choose* what ones to wear, when and with whom.

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