Masked terrains.



Thinking of those times nearly forgotten,
Beneath me lying masks, getting rotten.
Some never used, some feeling awfully akin,
Years of tears glued to its inner skin.


The fugitive soul stuffed into a social prison,
Lacking innermost insight - old and lost wisdom.
A sparrow sitting there, singing full of sorrow,
Quiet, distinct songs of life's toughness and horror.


Glancing in nowadays mirrors, but not recognizing -
A similar grimace facing me - fully paralyzing.
Now found a place to safely take off the recent mask,
Simple in theory, thou' practice is a different task.


Engaging the freedom of thoughts, but turtlelike slow,
Unaware whether braking chains is good or bad anyhow.
Instant confidency and acceptance - first time in life -
With all given modesty, hopeful getting more of that hive.


Fearing mindblinding illusion and rigid exclusion,
May I trust this new, uncommon situation?
Tearing down all masks for a short span of time,
Enjoying the briefest moment of feeling home.


Terrain incognita - now newest playground reached,
Unknown games to be played, unknown feelings displayed.
That bright light in the distance: ain't it an end to the tunnel,
Or is it merely a train coming at me, tying me to pummel?


Someday, somewhen some wishes will come true -
Old wishes regarded to in the meantime very blue.
Gathering new power to regain endless patience,
Never forgetting cruelty of fate's benevolence.


(c) Michael Twarkowsky - 1st April 2008, Cologne, Germany