A Masterful Performance

By Lucy Vivienne Martin

A shape I wear at others will,

A glove of pliant skin.
A mould for minds, swallow the pills

Forget myself, I and me.

A fabric wrought of smiles and sighs,

A shadow faint and meek,

In my true form a secret lies

But silent, dares not speak.

They crave a gown of ruby hues,

A gown of diamond brights,

I alter till their vision’s true

Becoming weary light.

A mask I don for every face,

A different false pretence,

Obliging in each shifting place,

And all at my expense.

My voice a chameleon's tune,

Adopting every ear,

Beneath gold suns or silver moons,

Sing to sleep all their fear.

A mirror reflecting back
Likeness they require,

Along a sacrificial track,

My selfhood to retire.

A bird who changes feather's shade

To match the verdant tree,

A costume willingly arrayed,

With painful sympathy.

A serpent shedding skin anew

To fit a borrowed shell,

Their wishes I must now pursue

Though I should surely fell.

The World A Stage of constant play

Where actors come and go,

And I a pawn who must obey

The script that they bestow.

No longer mine the radiant bloom,

No longer mine the gale,

My own sweet self I do consume

Behind a fading veil.

Yet does a subtle question rise

Within this altered frame:

If all is not just subtle lies

And I am but a name?

And must this shape forever keep

This phantom made of dust,

And cannot I finally sleep

In freedom's fragrant lust?

The answer whispers soft and low 

And chills the bone and heart,

That only when the lead heads home
May I then play my part