The Masque of the Prancing Mares by Sy Roth


The corners are confounding
Should you come upon the prancing mares
They are rounded smooth
When I angle toward them
I turn left–
The turn right—
In a confounding plague dance
I stop
They spin around to find a way back.

It’s a perplexing masque
A gothic black masque
Dressed in dowdy raiment
Anxious for the potential attack by an unseen enemy.

Innocence lies in the balance
Strikes at the heart
Steals your breath away
And leaves behind, merely a gargantuan puzzle,
A conundrum choose to hide behind their masks.

Blunted eyes peer over the crimped cusp
Empty eyes that reject a warm embrace
Devoid of understanding.
They skip across the streets to maintain their distance
And in its wake
Leave a bevy of Broken souls
Buried beneath an ash heap
Lady Havisham trapped in a timeless veil of fear
Of the unseeing eyes
And their fear-mongering pronouncements
Driven to reside in their hidey holes.

Another angular corner looms
Where no elbows touch
And nothing can assuage the separation
And they fear crowds bearing their red-rimmed orbs
Compelling isolation.

No zoomed messages will alleviate it
Dazzled by the manes of the prancing mares
Hidden in corners of their empty palaces
Withstanding the spirits of the unsanctified
And we wait until there is nothing left
Except the sounds of the disparagers
And their tales of unending numbers.


©2020 Sy Roth


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Sy Roth is a retired school administrator and has finally found the sounds of silence and the time to think whole thoughts. This has led him to find words and the ability to shape them. He has published in Visceral Uterus, Amulet, BlogNostics, Every Day Poets, Barefoot Review, Haggard and Halloo, Misfits Miscellany, Mad Swirl, Larks Fiction Magazine, Danse Macabre, Bitchin’ Kitch, Bong is Bard, Humber Pie, Poetry Super Highway, Penwood Review, Masque Publications, Foliate Oak, Miller’s Pond Poetry and The Eloquent Atheist.

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