The Flesh Mask

The Flesh Mask                                 August 14, 2008

The cool night wind blew
Across the face of a young man,
Perplexed in thought
And lost in translation.
Looking up into the black sky,
There are billowy clouds
And no moon to light his way.
Confusion reigned,
And there was no sign of resolution,
And his countenance faltered. 
His lady-in-waiting has laid
A heavy weighted burden 
Upon his heart,
Giving him the, 
"All for me or none of me," scenario,
And his only retort 
Was to walk out into the elements
Because night is always coldest
And he was like ice.

A cascade of thoughts manifested:
He couldn't very easily hide them,
But he sure endeavored in it the best he could.
His head stooped lower towards the ground,
At about the level he felt
His lady stomped upon him.
His eyebrows arched,
Giving those muscles a worked out,
Only to lead to more wrinkles as he ages.
The corners of his mouth tighten
The more he wondered, and wandered,
How much more he could give to his beloved.
At that point, tears welled up,
And as much as he wished to cry,
He remembered his duty 
As a red-blooded American male,
Swiftly looked up,
And swallowed these feelings.
Oh, he was biting his lips,
Because to him, pain was an honor greater
Than the folly of shedding tears,
The most perfect mask of all;
Albeit in a flesh mold.