Masquerade

The adult world’s a masquerade,

Attended by those sullied souls,

Whose guileless lives were left behind,

Like long forgotten old rag dolls,

The part of them they carried round,

And treasured above all other things,

Is now locked and hidden away,

A coveted yet unattainable dream.

Their faces bear the ugly stains of old hurt and older pain,

Covered up and camouflaged,

With yet another new façade

But now and then they catch a glimpse

In that harsh yet true reflection,

The flashes of their youthful past

The remnants of that dear perfection.

For eyes are pathways to the soul

Theirs tell tales and certainties

Of the innocent they once were and

Of the lost child they’ll always be.