MASQUERADE
by Martin Zialcita
The charade has ended.
The party quiet and still.
Games played are games no more,
And a new dance has started.
Masks torn from the masquerade
And costumes ripped from the play;
Now we run naked at the stage.
A stirring of new thoughts,
A filtering of ideas.
The old is thrown away -
Vestiges of yesterday.
An ancient call beckons:
The cry of humankind.
Find what was lost,
And seek what is hidden.
The angels wept when the apple was eaten,
But will we rejoice when we find the lost Eden?
A diamond recoverd,
But a pebble of no worth it was
For the man who discovered.
The sun glaring at the sky,
Seen yet not seen by human eyes.
Digging for gold is man's intent,
But when will he finally rest content?
Sleep will come with every dying man,
And truth is found only in the grave.
The charade has ended.
A new dance has begun.
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© 1997 kamandag@rocketmail.com
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