Mask (03/19)

 

Mask

to hide

our lament with a smiling expression.

Several Sisyphus rocks.

Various sizes, shapes, and colors.

That artisan

who survives the storm in the heart of the desert.

Regal antiquity, small poetry of simplicity.

Brick wall.

Rusticity.

Earthly longing.

Planes.

Blur.

A contrast.

A setback.

Mask,

almost human, of the carved face.

Warm.

Without blood.

The stain on the grass.

The honey in the hive.

Every lament

is carved

in that first

crucified poet.

Sleeping stone,

faceless visage,

hell of folklore,

you laugh without lips,

you scream in sleep.

Sculpted time,

an echo in nothingness,

a shadow’s cry,

a buried laugh.

-ER