The Mask of Truth

She played with pride and vanity in the mirror with crimson rouge she painted a mask. No tear would fall, for she forsook weeping, because in her mind her beauty was the truth, whereas the lie remained unending but she believed a pretty face is always beautiful. If a pretty face is always beautiful then surely in soft tongue speaks the mirror Whose hollow compliments are ever unending. Now it is never safe to take off that mask So the mask morphs into the truth? No wonder you can hear the quiet weeping. She cannot bear the sight of weeping since an ugly cry ruins the beautiful and she can never accept the ugly truth so quickly she must hide from her foe, the Mirror. What if torn from her face is the mask? She fears the insults will be unending. If the insults are truly unending it is the beginning of a lifetime of perpetual weeping fate, not glue, has sealed her face to the mask. At least her prison is beautiful, or so says the honest mirror since the damnable thing supposedly reflects truth. How dare that vile thing speak the truth! The pain caused has been unending, if she shatters the mirror Will it stop her weeping? No, she was cursed to be beautiful by her smotherer, the Mask. Chokes her slowly does the Mask. A noose is only equal to the truth and a blue face is never beautiful And now the threat of death is never unending. How can she mourn with weeping? Since she put her own disguise in the mirror. She could not bear the mirror's sad truths and her mask's deceptions were unending so weeping became her friend and she pretends that lies are beautiful. By: Chelsea P. Stone