"crooke" poems
A stranger may look on in wonder,
Curious of its splendor.
They may ask,
"Who made this mask?"
And With a heavy sigh,
I'll curtly reply:
"The mask is of my own design,
I made it faultless, line by line."
They'll look on in perplex.
Then comment next,
"What purpose does it serve?"
My answer, "To preserve."
They'll give a questioning look,
And my eyes will be those of a crooke.
"To preserve a broken state,
Which has been rather ill of late.
Behind this mask,
Lies an ungodly task.
The broken soul,
Is ***** as coal.
The bleeding heart,
Needs a jump start.
The shattered mind,
Could use a new shine...
But to speak of more,
Is to open a horrendous door.
There is so much pain,
Anyone else would fain."
They'll continue to stare at me,
"May i ask.. if I may see?"
I'll pause. And think.
Before I speak,
"If I let you behind my mask,
There is but one thing I ask.
Look around with care,
I can't take another tear."
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 12:30 AM UTC