The Mask

We wear the mask that grins and lies
We laugh, we joke, we dare not cry.
For if truth would speak, the misery'd eyes
Would tell a sad, sad tale of futile demise.

The face we wear is nothing but a story
To be told, knowing that in its lie
We seek to hide the truth; we try
But fail our quest for mortal glory.

If the one who knows the best of us,
Given a glimpse, could see the worst in us,
Then what hope would have a friend
To us remain until the bitter end?

To hide, or better, to know,
What can they trust, if not our soul?
Yet who fears most the fatal blow
That reveals not heart but deep black hole?

Will it be me disappointed most, or you?
At the time when much is expected,
Then we see the things most needed
Not present.
How sad to find the unexpected,
That signals not attack, but retreat.