<<*~*~*~ Paint ~*~*~*>>
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A painted face for today
perhaps heavier than the rest
to turn the same smile just as they wish to see.
Lacquered and smooth,
to keep it from faltering
to keep the heavy clay formed just right.
To be shaped the same today,
when sameness holds no sway within
The clay seems molten as
it harkens to the bidden shape.
Churning blades turn with random metre
swimming each way in guarded observation.
The chaos and muted sound
are really only marks of passage
as each works through the clay.
Distant brush-stroked sensations
barely filter through,
losing what meaning they carry,
and leaving faded hues behind.
Micro-thoughts,
bereft of reality mostly,
leave greater wake in the slough.
Such hints of self-pitying
coil in the appliqu
and disappear amidst the paint.
Subjective perceptions disappear within
each bauble that sways in hanging suspension,
as eyes close to save their betrayal
and smile.

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What masks to do we all wear, and what things do we do to ourselves to
try and fit to the moulds that we are given (or that merely seem made
for us)? Sometimes dancing and smiling on the stage of life is simply
too much, and even if we want to break the illusion, is it possible when
so many contribute to its creation?

Penned by my hand on the 11th of Artificium, in the year 533 AD.