To wear a mask

Upon this mortal stage, we don our guise, In silken threads of smiles benevolènt made; The world doth crave a face, a grand disguise, Yet in its charm, sweet innocence is frayed. The mask, a boon, yet laced with bitter draught, A poison's kiss that courses 'neath the skin; For every jest, a mournful truth is wrought, In shadowed depths where silent sorrows spin. With orbs like lamps that flicker through the gloam, We dance upon the thorns of Fate's cruel jest, To play our part, to leave the heart asfoam, To sip the deadly brew whilst sore possess'd. Thus in this play, we find both joy and bane, For though we wear the mask, the soul shall wane.