The many faced man stands guard
Outside our temple of infinite voices.
The reality of minds reflected in iron and steel,
Of clamoring tongues and the masks of our choice.
Each day we pick a mask,
Of justice, of anger, of courage, of joy.
We cover the void, speak over the silence,
Every one of them but a crutch, a ploy.
How can we have too many and yet have none,
So many faces but faceless still.
Shifting and changing till the day is done,
And we're back in the darkness of our large molehill.
We show one face here and another there,
Till there are no two that know us as the same.
We walk in circles and yet alone,
As if they were distinct in a Venn's frame.
We live in the safety of obscurity,
Pushing our darkness to the back.
But as we do, we hide our light as well,
Until our masks, they start to crack.
The cracks, they grow as we tire,
Starting to spill both dark and light.
Our secrets coming out, our voices too,
In audible tones of black and white.
If we can resist the urge to fill them for just a while,
If only we can muster the patience to wait and see,
And for one minute, hold back from holding back,
We may know in that moment, what it is to be free.
Комментарии