No person that I see is not a showy display,
Of the lifelong masquerade.
When I sit on the street,
Studying the passing people,
I cannot stop thinking.
People are afraid.
We wear the mask of someone else.
People play on other people's views,
Twirling them around on the dance floor.
Feathers and ties.
Their purpose is to distract us with a haze of festive color.
Those of the masquerade,
Who wear these funny outfits and guises,
None of them realize that this is not right.
This dance is a hell.
They dance on however,
On the Marinette strings of their own device.
They hide themselves, scared of others.
People dread when the music stops,
And they may have to show their face.
For hearts might grow cold at friends, family and loved ones.
For none of us know who each other are.
We hide behind the guise,
Of the masquerade.