The Masquerade

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1. The Masquerade

 

 

I cup my hands beneath the melting glaciers,

making sure not to spill one drop,

I embrace the withering forest,

but is it enough to make it stop?

 

I wave at the flying whales in the sky,

 though I wish they would come back home,

and remember how the rhino danced,

Now I wonder where it might roam.

 

Our existence is but a masquerade,

behind the mask we are denying this decay,

 the concrete column stands tall and proud,

 waiting to be flushed away.

 

 

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