I wasn’t sure why it gives me so much concern on the many faces of people’s worry, anxiety, failing hopes, sickness, whatever those ill things of life are and, when we all come out, everyone seems to think their trouble is the greatest and to other, everyone else is fine.
And, we all look trouble-less to each other — dress in fine faces. Not knowing why but recently, I’ve been wanting to *really* know the people behind the mask [our outwards appearances], wanting to listen to people share themselves, their experience, so I can relate.
Maybe the world should not move so fast and everyone keeping to themselves, thinking they have the biggest trouble. And these is out I feel (poetically).
Oh, and Happy Halloween if you celebrate it.
Happy faces, happy people,
with problems these faces tell.
Tell me, does it pinch, those shoes? Those
troubled faces hidden in those happy faces,
of the past, or the present, of the truism.
A truism we seek, a fervent reliance on the outside,
maybe they see, this happy face.
All the happy faces, various phases
for the world to see — the care of forgotten times.
Us, as dressed and composed, for the world to see
happy faces in one and many, so we all appear.
Those happy problem, on this heavy heart,
broken in places. Inside and hidden,
find me, behind this masked happy face.
A face with happy problems
to a world that cares less to see.