It is a delicate thing a mask
So small, small, small yet
Fragile
My mask is carefully fashioned,
Crafted and shaped
Flawless but for a crack on the side I
Drape and drape my hair over
It is fine
No one notices
Or cares
Sometimes I wonder why I wear it
But when I get home
Staring at the mirror I am reminded
Why it must be so
My mask is my companion and friend
My harshest critic and my enemy
Yet it has been with me through ups and downs
Highs
And lows
The only constant in life
And sometimes when I’m alone
A tear drops
From the crack on the side

A glorious sight befell my eyes
A pristine untouched bearer of supplies
Made of wood, of steel, or anything buildable
The Table

Possessing an essence unlike anything else
Hearkening to an unalterable purpose and tableness
Providing unending sustenance on a platform that's stable
The Table

Though the lingering presence in this perceptual world is illusory
The unchanging, uncleft presence is perfection conceptually
Artisanal glyphs adorn its sides unmatchable
The Table

While strife and pandemonium reign in this material domain
There remains a bastion of stability man cannot attain
Indeed, this mystical countenance attains a fable
The Table

Weathered and wizened through inummerable epochs
Joyous outpourings bestow praise not enough
Remaining of unmatchable nature even with the made-in-China label
The Table