Mask

A dark poem about an unsympathetic man.

The masked
Man, who lives in
Darkness,
Sheds his tears
For no one,
Not even whom
He loves
      dear.

He sees the moonlight,
        yet it does not touch his eyes.

He hides his
Face, even when the
Light tries to
Bring him out;
But he is
Always filled with
    doubt.

He witnesses a plight,
        yet does not yield to the cries.

But the masked man,
Feels
One and the same.
Once more,
Attempts
To move him seem
      Vain.

He endures a heartache,
        yet it does not stop his lies.

His mask
Is the crown;
And though it
Shines, he remains
Sheathed in the
    Darkness, with all its
    Binds.

His tears become a lake,
      yet his sobbing drowns not sighs.

And with his heart's
Absence,
He feels
Life,
With time
Elapsed,
Beginning
    To lose its grasp.

He no longer cares,
    he is a barn of black mares.

And so this
Forgotten
Soul,
Ashamed,
Writhes in
Agony,
    His health
    maimed.

His last words utter,
    only but a stutter.

His people
    Dig another
    Small grave.

A fair ending,
    to a man whose heart
no mending
    could solve.