Isn't It Strange

A poem about the masks we wear,and the faces we present to others.

Isn't It Strange

Isn't it strange
Quite deranged
Words we say
Games we play
False faces smiling in fright.

Places we go
Oddities we know
Secrets we keep
Times we peep
At things that go bump in the night.

Scars we cover
From each other
Painted masks
No one asks
To put under the microscope.

Naked pain
Blinding rain
Looking for tomorrow
Under the stupor of sorrow
The sterile drycleaning of hope.