Who is the one that stand behind you,
blocked by the one we see?
Who is the one that guides you,
intention's master, raw thoughts betrayed?
The masque is not the true face
of what you believe deep down inside.
The buttons of fear or love are depressed,
pulling forward the curtained self.
They'll walk behind you and we'll see you,
they'll speak for you, your lips will move.
Beware the masters served, those thing repressed,
they are revealed when you least expect.
Still there are the deepest thoughts,
the ones rarely shared with myself.
These are given leave to visit
and then asked to return to the depths.
Privacy of self gives faint approval
to the thoughts that swim below the surface.
The mob will flush the hidden pool,
blessing given to those things kept dark.
Either guilty pleasures mark brief visits,
or perhaps dire unwanted terrors.
One is let go in embarrassment
while the other released by panic's child.
Here is the twist, God's supreme laugh track,
others have their own stand-ins.
Civility of the common place
is in constant threat from the other selves.
Ideology and theology, idolatry and humanity,
passion's despair and hope's sorrow,
God and Devil, the worst and best
wait in conflict to reveal themselves.
A crowd awaits in life's shadows
behind the most holy and evil folks.
All are striving to impose themselves
when the stakes are high and spirits down.
You ask why we are asked to strive,
to project something other than ourselves.
The answer lies in the cooperation,
uneasy truce of the common man.
Pity those who lay outside,
no compassion felt by our hidden parts.
No connections lay in between
the cloaked powers and these other tribes.
In the end we are all at the mercy
of this mix of yours and mine, those behind
the cardboard images of life lived pure
while the puppets strings are pulled.
© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160304.