A dance that has no name
Hands embrace
Hands on waists
A delicate pattern like lace
And a masquerade mask on every face

Their bodies speak poetry
The music plays like a story being told
On this night they are all beautiful

In a corner masked men adorn themselves with the grotesque

Plague doctors whisper to gas mask wearing men in black coats
And one who is smaller wears a mask of bandages scarred with red

In the center there are princes and queens.
Jewels and breathtaking patterns
Disguise the visages of the royalty
A smirk is all that can be seen

Sky dancers with masks like starry nights twirl on silks

Then there are the wild ones
With masks no one can explain
Their laughter is obvious
And no one seems to know why they have such mirth

They dance together
They whisper secrets with a caress
There is no seperation here

There is only the grand paradox of performance

For the masquerade is divine
All are strangers
Telling the truth
Glorifying the lie


2 comments on “Masquerade

  1. You have captured the essence and mystique that shrouds the masquerade. Every mask dancer a reflection of there reality riddled behind a lie. Beautiful or grotesque all unique in the paradox of simplified design. The captivating moment we’re the royalists and hierarchy dance in the same realm of peasants and middle class each there own divine subjugating image of a fairy tail or nightmare.. a dancer of words a muse of story’s you tie together truth and class with a ribbon of gold so very very well.

    Liked by 1 person

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