Masquerade Poem by Kevin Maroney

Behind that one lies a man, no, a frog
a deathly withered, worn out old bog.
In there lies a bat in wait,
to swoop down, his throat to sate.

There, past the purse and the little toy dog,
lies a mistress dithering in many a payless job.
Between them all a secret is clear,
if each wears a mask, their secret's nothing to fear.

The blue vein pops out, a foul sight indeed,
yet beneath that lies a truth, a creed.
Between the lines on lips so red,
can I see a heart such blackness fed.

Some are the mask, so very pure,
yet beneath that not so clearly demure.
Indeed these may be the worst of all,
for they have much farther to fall.

Children play, they've not learnt to mold,
the greasy grass has not yet taken hold.
Only seedlings planted by surrounding bliss,
beneath which lies death's sweet black kiss.

Actors all, we ready for the masquerade,
but what happens when we see how quickly masks fade?