Beyond the Masquerade

I enter masked -
a phantom among the living,
trained in smiles,
tamed by the shallow art of talk.
Laughter flickers
like candlelight on glass faces;
I nod, rehearsed sincerity,
a mimic of warmth.

Conversations unfold like chess -
move for counter-move,
strategies of charm and curiosity,
each word a pawn
seeking the safety of approval.
Sometimes the checkmate
is not connection, but extraction -
a quiet victory of need:
to gather intel, close a deal,
win intrigue instead of trust.
Yet true bonds require time:
shared silence, honest joy,
even the sting of quarrel
followed by peace restored.

The true self, silent,
presses against its cage,
longing for the hush
where mercy is still enough to hear.
I am least lonely, most alive,
with souls who bear my flaws -
who know the bruises beneath my triumphs.
There, I am seen.

And when solitude returns,
I speak with my thoughts awhile -
they’ve missed me,
and have much to say.
We sort through old confusions,
sip coffee, tea, or some spirited elixir,
and play catch-up
like friends once estranged.

Then the noise recedes;
the Creator breathes through the quiet,
filling what emptiness remains,
until even silence hums
with joy unspoken.