Written by Lost in a Dream
“Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.” – Oscar Wilde
Under an inky sky,
We danced by the river.
Our glasses brimming with wine
And the night unwritten.
Saving our faces,
Our masks were our poetic license.
We re-wrote our roles
While we danced in and out of convention.
Or were our masks our muzzles?
Each one of us a servetta muta
Biting our tongues
To maintain an ill-fitting mask?
It didn’t matter.
Beneath the glitter, gilt and gestures,
It was just a guessing game.
Our masks just heightened the mystery.
If you discover me,
Let it not be by the wagging of my head,
or the touch of a dry hand.
But, know me by a soul coloured feather,
A signature star.
While writing this poem Lost in a Dream was inspired by two plays: “The Rover” and “Much Ado About Nothing”. This is her fifth entry on Inkblots – here is her first, “October“.