Mire
A mask covers my face and shields my eyes.
Its pitch black, whispers like candles down the path before me.
The mask is lifted and my head forced to rise.
Small voices are all that lay here, not a light in the realm, just whispers like the seas.
Can this be the place that 'mares are made of?
I walk forward into this dismal place and force my mask back down, moving with an internal shove.
Voices tear at my ears “You’ll never find what you want”
This task of finding the other side seems to taunt.
Words are ripping at my exposed skin, like knives on my skin.
Pressing on I move, an internal jaunt.
My mask is my shield, I am chagrin.
I walk, humble and silent.
A masked man is not one whom wants to be seen.
Words fight with my mind, becoming more and more violent.
“Why would you do that to yourself...” A voice seems to preen.
Breathes grow further and further apart.
Panicking does start.
The voices start to move at me in herds.
No physical damage, pressing on, its all just words.
Air forced out of my lungs, the world starts to spin.
I guess its just more hair for the birds.
My mask is my shield, I am chagrin.
My body is being made obsolete.
So much pressure, suffocating me.
Moving is such a feat.
I feel a pain in my side and take a knee.
Still no light
Steam-less, I am running out of fight.
Wounds burn like fire.
Words of such ire.
Falling out of my state, I am in the spin.
Moisture on my face, a mire.
My mask is my shield, I am chagrin.
Rays of light touch my face.
Seeping into my skin, mending my broken body.
Easing, in and out, such grace.
My garb grows heavy and gaudy.
“You’ll never be good enough” Still ringing in my head.
Suddenly being blinded, my skin is red.
The world is black again.
Water crashes over me, rain.
I feel a hard blow to my chin.
I fall, yet my mask feigns my pain.
My mask is my shield, I am chagrin.
On my back, hands folded over stomach I take off the mask.
The stars are looking down.
“Some people aren’t mean’t to shine” I think as I bask.
This mask is my crown.
Replacing my mask, I embark, back to my abyss.
Moving slowly, I am remiss.
Words slosh around in the rain, making little sound.
I walk, barely making sound when my feet touch ground.
More peaceful than I have ever been.
For once I know why I am bound.
My mask is my shield, I am chagrin.
Not all those that cry are sad.
Tears of joy, or just being so mad.
Not all that are happy grin.
Peoples emotions aren’t iron clad.
My mask is my shield, I am chagrin.
