What indeed holds the mask of faces
and choices from the everyman.
Where does the line lie in the whispers of cold darkness
And Time's eternal running sand.
So many dreams lost in so many faces.
So seamless, the spirit wanders and chases
To the picture painted upon the wall of our own illusions,
And the hope dashed by broken soul.
To the reawakening from confusion,
And the passion streaming to fill the hallowed whole.
Are we who we truly believe, or just another face
Painted lopsided to please our own ambitions.
Or are we the reflection
Of our experience and decision.
Perhaps questions that we will
Take to the after life,
Or questions that drive us
To our own mad seeking.
I'm but one in many forms,
Not a ghost in many shapes,
But an illusionary reality,
To feel the experience
That is set upon my path, with
Faith in my fate.