Mask

They were strong.

The sun rose with a rosy hue.

It seemed an irony to

The darkness some were engulfed in;

Those who glowed with zest,

Smiled with spark and

Seemed lively with laughter.

For underneath all that pretense,

Were lost souls

Searching for land to anchor,

Wrecked like a sunken ship.

They were the ones who 

Cried themselves to sleep and

Choked in their mirthless tears.

But they were strong

For they hid their woes

Beneath a farcical mask.

Farce

The Statue

“Make it upright!” The king yelled of his statue.

Engraved with arrogance in his eyes

And with the boundaries of his empire etched onto his smirk,

His statue looked upon mortality leeringly.

It glorified him in gold and ivory, standing tall and proud;

And the entire world looked puny

Before the mighty monument.

People looked in awe

At the homage to their king and his empire,

While his rivals stared in muted envy.

It was a symbol of the permanence of his wealth.

“It will last for eons!” The king boasted to his fellow kingmen. “It will last forever!”

I chuckled and told myself, “Wonder how long that will be.”

Chuckle

Promised Land

It appears never ending:

The prospect of passing seconds.

You can almost feel the promise 

Of your endeavors reaching their destination.

You can hear your mind waiting for the promised land.

“Now is not the time,” you think. “There’s always later.”

That is where some went wrong.

Their passion eventually dissolved;

Dreams of fervor gradually faded

Over the hope of later.

For later is an illusion,

Only the present is the true promised land.

Later