• Randi

The Masked Master

Photo credit: Ashley Noelle Photography

Much like the climate of this strange place which I live, The inner parts of me as unpredictable as they are within.

Curiously certain of everything in sight, both plain and hidden, For only the next breath I’m fearfully unsure of the forbidden.

A violent storm raging within, amplifying my loss of control, Transforming the floating mist of happiness into heavy coal.

Or perhaps the sadistic storm is merely a false façade, Presented by the stage master hidden by a mask, a fraud.

Persistently hoping my head and my heart would unify, Desiring the same things in a harmony that would purify.

One moment I’m melting, humid, and stifling, Burning with satisfaction, resolve, and ripening.

The next I’m frozen still, dry, and lifeless, Unable to care, a dead flower with violence.

But the masked master is cunning, patient, and lovely, Using elements of reality leading to artificial discoveries.

He is appealing and familiar, holding a mysterious clue, Leaving me unsatisfied for something I never knew.

Sinking deeper in love with the thrill of the unknown, Clutching tightly to the certainty of an immovable stone.

But in yearning for what has yet to come, and may never, I risk losing the ever present sensations of today forever.

How does one exist perfectly, without mistakes or regret? Achieving everything aspired and obtaining nothing offset?

Looking closely at the mirror I see hanging on the wall, And realizing the veil over my eyes isn’t a mask after all.

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© 2020 by Stilettos to Aristotle.