Do any of us truly wear our own face
Whether we are indoors among those closest to us
Or in or out among those we think we know
And out among those we definately do not
Do we not put a mask, to hide our innermost thoughts and feelings
Not wishing to show others how we really feel
About them and what's going on; things
It is perhaps as well, we are not telepathic
And above all, that we are saved from seeing ourselves
As others see us. Life is a Masquerade.
ahhh, The truth be told here, Marilyn...Genuinity is a rare find today...A Fine Penning, indeed''''''''''''FJR
this 1 has an echo from Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.. 'to prepare a face to meet other faces'... nice write... regards... asma...
I have long thought that we DO wear masks, sometimes even hiding from ourselves. Maybe our honesty comes out in our writing - at least, I hope so! Good write, Marilyn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Yes, that is how life is. There is no telling who is telling the truth and who is not. I love this one. I have written poetry that deals with this too, but yours really caught the real insight to how life is a masquerade. So, I shall keep on reading more of your work.