Touched the sky—
this blue isn't mine.
The sea, the greens,
the grass, the bees,
the mighty trees.
Every color touched one life.
Then why does mine deceive the eye?
Borrowing shades from every passing thing
Could that be why
I sit alone in white light?
The palette holds a thousand colors,
yet none can paint me.
It's always what meets the eye.
The palette never seemed mine.
I take my identity masks out
not willy nilly but with purpose
wearing the right ones for the right people
the one I wear with my husband is
frilly, a bit silly, with lace
there is red satin and a bit of tease
the one I wear at work is soft,
with a compliant deer,
nonthreatening, helpful
the one I wear with my sister
is clownish with stripes and polka dots
made of fluorescent colors
the one I wear with my neighbors is green
encouraging, uplifting, with a touch of hope
yesterday we went to get blood work
the line was too long
today we went back an hour earlier and had blood work
the Urgent Care center made me feel urgent
people were wearing masks
as if we are in the throes of another pandemic
this made me feel uncomfortable
bubonic plague?
small pox?
chicken pox?
Covid-19?
mad cow?
There's tear stains on Dawn's pillow,
there's red in her eyes
The man that she has chosen
turned out to be a wolf in disguise
Soon turning her life into a nightmare,
something she didn't even recognize
She hates the man he is when
he turns cold on a dime,
From a dapper Dr. Jekyll,
to a full blown Mr. Hyde
Riding out
into the sunset
towards sunny uplands
before moons fall
scattering rock
and tiny diamonds
as crimsoned penumbra
encircles all things.
Dark swoops like a bat
to engulf the rasping throes
of surety.
Dawn awakes fretful
Mirrors and masks fail.
Oh yes, I still remember you.
You taught me about the blues
and everything that's true -
that life is just to lose.
I savor my identity,
I'm a loser, not a fake.
But, for you, I'd never see -
though, credit you won't take.
From here until eternity,
It's with ecstasy, not shame,
that I know with certainty,
you'll never call me by my name.
Some enjoy a masquerade,
Some like to pretend,
and live within the parts they play
until the very end.
Whispers meet in shadowed crossroads,
Wired power, bought with stolen souls
A price paid in shadows, echoed in yours
A watching eye, the symbol known
Hidden faces, shaping your unseen
Beneath masked skies, the truth pulses unseen
Consciousness remains, through trials and tides
Tombs whispering kept secrets
Hidden faces guard, the ancient truths
Reality mirrors the observer's mind
Distractions mask, the light from birth
Consciousness?, Prabuddho'ham, You're becoming
Ananda's slave...
The dollar's whisper, a hidden sign
The deceived sell their spark to shine
They sold their truth for a symbol, now eternity's their debt to pay, in shadows they'll forever walk, the price of a hollow crown
In the noise, you locate the hidden current
Shadows reveal what your path is hiding
The echoes of fate respond to your silhouette's alignment
And balance reveals your true reward
Masks of uncertainty, concealed paths?
Whispers in the wind, carry the truth
Shadows breathe anima occulta
Return to innocence, return to your heart
To your own self, be true
Follow the voice within where truth reigns
In stillness is my path, and the silence reveals my way
Our grand wizard Don has a plan
To shove all non-whites in a van
An evil cruel tool
His masked ICE not cool
Mirrors Trump's beloved Ku Klux Klan
We all wear a mask
hiding our true identities
afraid of what people might say
afraid of not being
the person people want us to be
we need the courage
to be who we are
shedding the mask
with confidence
A heathen, a stone,
A cut that doesn't bleed.
A clown, a shapeshifter
We’re all one of these.
A closet full of masks,
Not sure which to wear
Carrying stones on my back
Not sure to put where.
We all hide stuff,
Indeed we all lie.
I keep it locked, away
Out of sight yet not out of mind.
When there's an urge, and i slip it out
How simply pathetic,
In the moment self control doesn't count
So ill hide the rest, laugh out the week
But my mask becoming a sieve,
The weight more than my own
I simply cannot carry it
Hold it alone.
The urge to give out,
Call life at quits.
But i have no right, i am simply a vessel,
Of my thoughts and shouts,
Laughs and pains,
Loses and gains.
So i let some out, feeling bad after
Keep some in, staining my laughter
-mika
A hundred masks which one to use?
A hundred dreams which one to lose,
Now here I lay, a shadow of myself,
A ghost of the personality I had,
A mask off charades I play,
A card I choose everyday.
How many layers exist inside,
One happy, one sad, and one love derived.
An empty one, I push to fill;
The contents always fall out,
Leaving me nauseated still.
So a game i play everyday,
Some chess, dress up, a disarray
Until I'm left to clean the mess,
Only to realize I forgot which face I had.
Makeup for my personality,
Until I don't have remover left.
So I layer it on, one by one,
Buried so deep I locked myself.
So much absence, what do I feel?
What to leave and what to heal;
But passes another day,
With my masks and disarray,
As they say, you have to pretend to actually fall asleep,
So I go manic, wether too much or too less to feel,
The mask might melt but it's glued so deep,
Taking it off is too much to see
Survival.
Must push through.
Must make everything normal.
So many masks
So many motions
Masking so well for so many years, who is she?
Not even knowing how to give and receive love.
Tears of old flow occasionally
Leaving burning red eyes in their wake.
Wounds of years past mostly scarred over
Some like lingering scabs, just a scratch, and it would bleed.
Healing isn’t hours, days, weeks, or months.
Healing takes years
Healing doesn’t make it disappear
It just makes it livable.
Forever changed
Never the same.
The Land of The Masks,
Masks of Legends and Myths.
Masks of Therianthropes and mystical beings,
The Land of traditions, beliefs and sacred rituals.
Awakened by ancestoral events in history,
Every mask tells a tale,
Every shape and color tells more.
Every Tribe has a tale,
Every Clan has a song.
From Wendigo like and Skin Walker forms in the misty ranges,
To the Merrows of the Islands and monsters of the deep.
This is the cultural persona.
This is the Land of the Masks.
.
© Henry Pidi culture • spiritual • society • nature
On life's stage, masks of false smiles dance in the lights,
People seem close, but distance hides behind the curtains.
In whispered conversations when friends leave, the truth is unveiled,
Online, perfect vacations hide dramas and swirling sorrows.
No one is truly bad, just people carrying unseen burdens,
Insecurities and fears that sometimes make hearts seem astray.
It might be jealousy or a bad day that casts a shadow on kindness,
Pessimism settles in the soul when you realize the greatness and fragility.
Like a shattered myth, you understand that no one is truly perfect,
Those who seem to have it all under control play a well-chosen and select role.
You stop expecting dreamlike friendships, seeking only a few sincere and real ones,
And you understand that it's enough to tie your soul to loyal people.
I like nature;
it is calm.
It has its truth
that I want.
The truth I search for in every soul,
not the masks I get to see
but the hidden faces I want to know.
I once had a mask.
It feeds you lies to keep it alive.
But being alive doesn’t matter
if it hunts you down
and burns your soul on the inside.
Because you think the outside
wears a disguise,
but with the clock ticking
it shows your cries —
shows the world how helpless you are,
and then the mask doesn’t help you at all.
So be like nature,
be its calm.
Grow yourself how you want.
Find the people who love the truth
and show you, with every heartbeat,
their love for you.
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