Within the Silvered Glass

Within the silvered glass I spy

the mask I wear, my perfect lie.

This happy face, it is not me;

I show them what they want to see

while deep inside I slowly die.

I cannot let them see me cry,

so I just smile and wave goodbye

then check for signs of pain, set free

within the silvered glass.

With broken wings I’ll never fly;

I turn away and softly sigh.

My world consists of tragedy -

a scream that echoes silently.

The fools can’t see, it is not I,

within the silvered glass.

(c) 2016 - dustygrein

** The rondeau is often able to convey a depth that somehow transcends it's mere fifteen lines. This one was written for my daughter. Since the loss of my grandson to SIDS  in 2011, she has worn her mask almost all the time - and only those of us who know the pain can see behind the smiles.