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The Mask of My Pride


Why was I a proud slave to the system, a proud warrior bent in shame before the angry mob? Was it pride as I shaped it, a mask for my immense sadness?

I cried beneath my mask and found myself alone in my mourning. I wept beneath the frame and no one ever knew me. Do we really know another without having witnessed their love?

With my mask in place I’d have continued using the word “love” like a one word riddle. If I still donned my mask for the least of me, I’d have died without ever having been true to self, without ever having known who and what I am- love and peace.



© 2011 by mark prime


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