She falls in and out time
Flys about like the winged feet of Mercury
Riding upon the flickering flame of consciousness
Navigates the chattering currents of light
She buckles down, leans into the wind
Only to finds herself host to a house full of ghosts
She dines with them,
Pours another glass of wine with them
All the while she feels the undeniable weight of their chains
Through their hollow smiles, she sees them crying,
Yet she says nothing...
For she cannot help but to relate.
All she can do now is laugh
At the absurdity of her quiet, casual observations
For time reveals that there really are
No greater demons
Than the ones that reside
Within the sum of her own reflection.
She dresses herself for the evening ahead,
Once again, she'll be attending the annual masquerade ball.
Everyone there wears a disguise of his own design,
Yet rarely is it one of his own choosing.
So today she won't be at the mercy of some unseen spectral stylist.
Today she takes a watchful eye,
And faces the shelf of faces herself.
Careful not to choose a mask that is too gaudy,
Nor too wild, nor too frighteningly cruel.
Because she already knows that nobody can leave the party until after midnight anyhow...
So she might as well dance.