behind the mask

Behind the Mask

Leaving behind the sanctified ground with its musty grasses and dead blooms the woman discards the gown of black and begins to reclaim herself from the abyss. She knows the tales the headstones tell in the far corners of bleakest darkness she’s seen beyond the limits of unscathed mortal understanding where the Dorian Gray incarnates roam freely amongst angels in the bright of day. Unmercifully left behind she shudders. As the bell continues to toll. she attacks the onslaught layer by layer, shred by shred, until everything is covered, hidden well. She’s chosen her new facade carefully, as bright as tomorrow may well be the mask is in place and she, refusing the comfort of eyes long dead, or a heart numbed from aching, vanquishes it all donning gilded gown. With invisible shield in hand she roams over and through the remaining dimensions of life liberally bestowing smiles upon all and juggling time in perfect synch. Layer upon layer of tears now dried, hope forever within her, mourning becomes comfort, the ordinary order of things. The smiles continue, the games play on as the days repeat in haunting echoing she places them in a carefully cultivated, tended with love, garden of time knowing inevitably they will return. And behind the mask she quietly weeps, the salty, stinging, redemptive tears of those who have seen beyond and like her, stood their ground and fought, and fought, and fought again, and somehow, managed to victoriously survive.