Secret-Shadows

Bal Masqué Standing here, face to face, Wearing masks, silk and lace We deny the truth and maintain That the mask we wear would be the same No matter who we would see, Not just you or me. And we find comfort in this fact In this ludricous, futile act That we treat each other Like sister and brother Ignoring the bottom line That, when it comes to yours and mine, Our masks cannot but reveal The way we truly feel.

Maybe tomorrow I'll write a poem or sing a song Maybe tomorrow I'll find the answer to an unknown question Maybe tomorrow the sun will illuminate my heart and show me the joys of life Maybe tomorrow I can look back on my life and see that it was good Maybe tomorrow will be the end of all this sorrow

God of my senses Object of my thought Master of my body Essence of my life Steadfast Capricious Loving Heartless I, your priestess Your devoted slave Obsessed with your vision Willing to be sacrificed I take the knife And cut Yet in the end The god bleeds

On my back the weight of the world's sorrows In my head all crimes committed by man In my hands the axe of war that should be buried On my feet hunger and famine In my eyes all the tears that will be shed In my ears the howls of the neglected In my womb the unborn children of the earth In my heart desperate hope

My life Is on hold Can't go forward Can't grow old My body Is inert Can't even Feel the hurt Everything Turned to stone Except my heart All alone Because you Couldn't see Just how much You mean to me

She lies Battered and broken Used and abused Lifeless Her eyes Open and blank Her nose crushed Her sighs Voiceless and void As empty As the room Forgotten she lies Waiting for the end Such is the life of a toy

Forever Autumn He remembered it well... Goldberry's hugs... She used to be here all year round. He could even feel her gentle touch during winter, when he was supposed to be fast asleep. He had loved her from the very start. He remembered their first encounter as if it were only yesterday. To her he had seemed very old, ancient even. Of course she had been only five and he some 60 years. She used to curl up in his arms on lazy summer-afternoons, his senses bemused by that strange scent of hers. Later, when she got older, she used to tell him stories about the dryads of ancient times. Girls born from trees, destined to be forever one with t

She stands tall and proud but you can see it shimmer in her eyes: her heart yearning aching breaking She stands firm and certain but you can hear it vibrate in the air: her dreams dying falling shattering She stands icy and cold but you can feel she's biting back her tears: her self-esteem sinking diminishing disappearing