The Man Who Wasn't There
The Man Who Wasn't There
On my way to Middling-fair,
I met a man who wasn't there
I did not see him as we sat,
And ate, and had the oddest chat
"I am not really here," said he,
"My many masks are all you'll see,
Though you may know me all your days,
On my true form you'll never gaze.
My masks are not the sort one wears,
With plastic eyes and clownish hair,
Mine are the kind that hide the soul,
And let the wearer play his role.
One day jolly, two days sad,
Three confused and four days mad,
Adventurer or merry clown,
I've even one with a thorny crown.
Masks aplenty, masks galore,
Every day brings one mask more
Masks to hide your hopes and fears,
Pain or pleasure, joy or tears.
Masks of wisdom, masks of fate,
Some for love, while others hate,
Masks for work and masks for play,
Masks in which to spend all day.
To hide beneath a mask was fun,
As lover, brother, friend, and son,
I piled on mask, and mask again,
Until they fit better than skin.
But then, one day, I came to see
My masks are all that's left of me,
For while a mask can gain renown,
The man inside is breaking down.
Though I thought I was safely hid,
With each new mask, part of me fled,
And now I live in grim despair...
For I'm a man who isn't there."