Masks

“So many to choose from,” cried the boy as he grew.
His parents taught him well, oh yes they knew.
“Always be on your guard, never let anyone know
inward feelings and thoughts you should never show.”
And as manhood approached he took advice
until he wore his masks
not thinking twice.
Of course a different mask for every occasion
and so through the years avoided life’s invasion.

A mask of humility to God’s house he treads
silently wishing the church furnished beds.
A mask of compassion for those hurting within
all the time thinking what’s in it for him.
A mask of awareness which he thinks is real
but no mask can replace the ability to feel.
As age settled in he became prone
to wear his mask when even alone.
For his mask had become reality
no sadder a fate could ever be.
Old and gray, soon to die
the man removed his mask to cry
looking closely at what he’d become
he took down a letter and wrote to his son…

“Life is no masquerade, the world’s not a tool.
Masks are worn by the scared or the fool. Because in the end
all there will be, is a mirror reflecting the image of me.”

These words are written in stone and rock
so no one need forgot the old man’s lot.
To enter the cemetary there is but one task;
a marker explains –
“Please be courteous and remove all masks.”

T.V.E.

This poem below was written by someone at school a long, long time ago...I can't remember her name, but her initials were T.V.E. I always loved it...