WITH ME IN MIND

'The Masque'  by  Trish

My Ancestors shiver in their shrouds, I have disturbed them,
With my relentless search, for answers, my constant vigilance.
There is much to sort out, in my theatre of charade,
My costume's not been started, my role not yet cast.
The elements are all there, mime, drama, the power of play.

The masks, for all my old roles, are waiting.
Breathe, your audience awaits.Mystery and magic, tragedy and mirth, combine perfectly in my theatre of Charade.
But this is not my audience! Is this even my theatre?

Where is the part, that's a poem, that produces the perfume of life and love?.
I have searched the forests, with a sword in one hand, my heart in the other..
Closed my ears my eyes. Did it achieve anything?
The forest swallowed me whole.With the sword, I purposely pierced my own heart.

I've performed endless roles, amongst them, the threadbare servant, and the red nosed clown, and they were my greatest moments.
Now I need something else? Surely it is there amidst my theatre of clouded mirrors,
Secret corners and this crowd of sad, creepy, cranky masks I've collected!

What if  the old masks vanished, melted away? What then?
Well...I could  paint my bare flesh,
And if there was, as well,  living breath,
I'd have a complete canvas to paint my world of colors upon..
But my skin is raw, from the masks' harsh cloth, and may distort the colors, I put upon it?
Let's just say, I did start to fight myself, for a new character? where would I begin? 

At my throat,
I'd loosen the rope.

Until my breath flows
And my voice grows.

I'd have my body in my bed
 A body attached to my  head.

          (To be continued)

Trish