A sea of dark faces,

each like smudges of ink hovering around,

coming toward me with quickening paces-

I retreat to my corner like a kicked hound.

I feel naked, stripped bare, open to the eye;

they do nothing but give their visards' stare.

Their greedy gaze you cannot pacify.

I move my lips in a murmured prayer,

Hoping for severance with a sigh.

They are still there,

their wound conscience I am left to untie.

Their faces metamorphosing without a care.

But the mask is slipping-

the peeking visards prove false.

The illusion of fight: seething, tearing, ripping-

raw, red souls in a human waltz.

Caught past their shattered masks,

and made fools, like humans do;

humanity spitting its poisonous gas,

they hide behind the lie; actors taking their cue.