Masque
Behind the shell, the outward lies prostrated
And beckons with the lure of golden dreams;
A gown of lesser evils decimated,
Decaying thread by thread, torn at the seams.
Revealed the hell, the dying eyes dictated
Rings of circles damned in their decreasing;
The peeling masque split wider, indicated
How cold the past may grip with scant releasing.
Pray tell of you and I, disintegrated
And dice with death of love and all her wiles;
For broken hearts are forces devastated
And leave us only faint, uncertain smiles...
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005
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