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Masked

Donít think that filling masks is an end.
The mind forgets nothing.
Look deeper.
Beneath all transparent intangibles
We are but tokens.
Wrapped in existence
We spiral downward
To a carbon-blackened rebirth
Into Nothingness.
What of our soulís flight?
That endless spiral of a falcon
Away from the falconer
Voluted
Lost beyond hearing and thought
Gone beyond recovery
Finally free to follow its own path.
It leaves behind an empty shell
A mask of man, a vessel,
No more a container of life, but
Empty and crumbling to dust.
Dust to dust as ashes
To the earth it returns
Insignificant, non-existent.
Left only blank nothing,
All feeling gone.
So donít think that filling masks is an end.