Crying Into The Mask Poem by James McLain

We whom carried the mask from which each our grimace
and 'God let it hide thine fine gray lines,
grace it hides on our cheeks
and blood red rubies our eyes pain plucked out.
This debt which we pay with beings human perfidy;
With their hearts torn out and of bleeding whom smiles,
but thee and it never stops with innumerable subtleties.
Why would the world being thus overwrite I you have,
By counting all our tears each star and light in the sky?
Nay, left them only see us, whereas,
We whom carry the mask.
We sing, but oh and l' of clay mortar from dust is cheap;
thick red mud,
Under my feet, and a long time the thousands my many;
But leave the dream of the world dream it differently,
We whom carry the mask!
That built your dreams as the long wide leather it cracks
the picture now of silver bracelets, tarnished black.
Gold and silver they never were, made from blood.
Knowing not where you ever may go,
for so many were the welts on our backs, some carry.