faces of truth
I must prepare my face.
The plastered joy forms two tall towers
Soon bombed by mind’s disgrace.
The band strikes up and the cellos wail;
My shell begins to dance.
The feigned form flees, it shall not fail
Forced by a lonely lance.
One cuts in quick, my partner gone.
I spin and twirl alone.
I see Her dance, smart, laughing, long—
My thoughts, a darkened tone.
I fall away from the soiled place,
Deep down a darkened pit.
A light guides my trek: Her smiling face.
The music quietly quit.
Her soft hair lays upon my chest.
Shy breaths come sort and fast.
I remember the thing—the bright, red vest;
The thought of joy doth pass.
I walk Her home, dress dragging snow.
I carry it and lead.
Up icéd steps, I guide Her slow—
She thanks me for my deed.
Her shy, bare arms wrap ‘round my grace,
They hold me close and calm.
Soon soft lips lay upon my face—
My fears, it doth embalm.
I walk away, warm, quick, alone,
With her there at my side.
Quick, up the steps that lead me home—
My joy, I do not hide.
I bathe, wash, brush, then get in bed,
She sits there while I sleep.
When I wake, morning warm in head,
Blushing, she does weep.
I ask about her flushéd cheek—
She slowly turns away.
She tells me in a voice so weak
My world fades to gray.
The ball begins in few short hours;
I must prepare my face.
The plastered joy forms two tall towers
Soon bombed by mind’s disgrace.