The builder of masks


    Once again, once upon a time


    There lived a builder of many a mask


    Most intricate and serpentine


    The most beautiful one could ever ask


    Each dazzling work


    A crafted miracle


    Of wondrous sort


    In his art, he was the pinnacle


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    Every day of the year, a different mask he wore


    To his great pride and splendor


    They had became his very core


    And no longer was he capable of candor


    Yet, soon enough he found


    That by strange illness befallen


    He could no longer hear the sound


    That for so long made his art solemn


    So before long, his masks fell to decay


    And unattached from their master


    For the first time, with himself he had to parlay


    Only to find, that he could not escape any faster


    For his face was an abysmal unknown


    Every feature, lacking a name


    As he had ripped what he had sown


    And he could no longer recognize what he had became


    So to the streets he went


    Desperately pleading for help


    Asking anyone what this truly meant


    Screaming that his very face had melt


    Yet, to his great surprise


    Each and every one


    Had spelled his confused demise


    Letting him know he still had one


    Still convinced of his facelessness


    The builder quickly ran to a mirror


    Yet was met with the same shapelessness


    And could not see any clearer


    For in his prideful and boastful art


    That he so unabashedly wore


    He found himself so lost in a part


    That bit by bit, his true self tore