Regret’s Mask

That space we seldom see,

unless already known,

the mask regrets nothing

while internal turmoil creeps

about waiting,

about wanting,

about hoping to lash out,

when the time is right.

When our mecca,

single-most desire,

passion

steps toward a ledge,

we cower again,

we scramble to grasp

a mask,

a shelter to protect

our, his, my, your, we’re all

yearning.

Seems readily available,

a facade I mean,

that piece of fabric

transparent when we will it to be.

Yet, in the midst of turbulence,

a cacophony of havoc,

when then we realize

efforts in vanity

far outweigh a

genuine disorder,

well then

might we all smile,

to know just once,

that certain need to survive,

universal.

Sleep well with your mask,

gently placed on the end table.

You’ll find it again,

the moment hope is needed,

in the chaotic nature,

defines,

the human condition.

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