When dull reality removes its
Disgusting mantle of routine,
Great Masquerade is floating in,
Whose white facade is built for ruins
Of wicked puppetry and sin.
The beasts are laughing insincerely,
Love’s just a subject of intrigues,
Wise laws are made to crush the weak,
And mysteries are swiftly killing
Fools who them for vainglory seek.
And he who by the whim of fortune
Is master of eternal night,
Who’s rich, and loved, and always right,
Will not enjoy his bitter lordship:
He’s captured by eternal fright.
Red blood stains snow-white marble pillars,
Where jokes are made to silence cries,
Grim questions in the answers lie,
And all you see behind the fear is
The withered roses’ chiming sigh...
… and fading scent of shattered mirrors.
Masquerade
© Copyright: Lancelot, 2018
Свидетельство о публикации №118092309354
Свидетельство о публикации №118092309354
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