In gilded halls where candlelight doth dance,
We feign delight with smiles that do not reach
The depths of eyes, where truth lies in a trance,
And falsehoods bloom like roses, each to each.
With practised grace, we play our crafted parts,
In this grand ball of life’s elaborate game,
Concealing scars that mar our tender hearts,
Behind a mask of joy that bears no name.
But oh, how weary grows the soul that hides,
Beneath the weight of facades carefully worn,
For in the quiet moments, truth abides,
And longs to break free, no longer forlorn.
Yet still we feign, for fear of being known,
Until at last, our true selves are outgrown.
Source: 1
Bob Lynn / 08-Nov-2024
