The Mask

My fingers ply at the mask

Janis should be our patron saint

My smile tears at your frown

Warm pleasant thoughts try to thaw

Distant storms stir dreams of hope

Your person moat worn like badge

With no bridge we stay afar

Mysteries of imaginary barriers

Built by ghosts waiting for your bidding

I visits them regularly in your place

But still my fingers ply at the mask

When do I dare remove it?

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