Mask

Tis but a mask,
with eyes and a mouth,
Along with little holes to draw breath.
Which may just be the only thing,
keeping me away,
from the cold embrace of Death.
Death awaits us all,
and takes what may please
quickly,
quietly,
sometimes without means.

Tis but a mask,
separating me and the crowd,
Keeping me from sounds,
that are overwhelmingly loud.

Tis not a mask however,
that blocks my face,
simply stays and takes space.

Tis the mask that is my face,
For my face is a mask
and my mask is a face.