I Wear a Score of Painted Masks

[Under development: 3 June 2005]

During the mid- to late-1980s, I encountered a poem. The poem was typed and photocopied. More recently I glimpsed that poem in a book about gestalt counselling.

The meanings of the poem resonated deeply inside me. The words seemed to address some deep, dark, mostly hidden feelings and ways of perceiving which encouraged me to be more honest about myself to myself. The untidiness of the way the poem was written irked me. I set about the process of rewriting the poem. I wove into the poem what I now recognise as a milestone in terms of recognition of my own inner fragmentation, something of its cause, and something of its resolution. At the time when I rewrote the poem, I had grown in my spiritual perspective, and I wanted to promote something of a Christian perspective. What is also obvious is my desire to be in contact with people, and how that issue has led me further and deeper into the counselling world.

Here is what I wrote. If you know of the original to which I have referred above, please let me know, as I should be eager to reread it, to acknowledge it formally, and to learn more from it.

I Wear a Score of Painted Masks

I wear a score of painted masks
And manicure fine words in mime:
I fool you with my masquerade,
And none of them is me.

I am Securicor secure:
Self-sufficient, independent, blithe,
Confident I need no-one;
Mask-surface polished smooth.

Though surface acts as brazen shield,
Beneath each brittle marble mask
Seethes metal-grimace turbulence
Of a barren Arctic tide.

My fear: cosmetically concealed
Like enamel painted rotten wood;
No-one must guess how, weak and dark,
I knot myself inside.

What of me you see is bright,
Sophisticated nonchalance.
In phoney, suave facade I strut
Afraid to chance a glimpse.

I wear my bitter mask of games
Because I fear my worthlessness.
Dream back childhood times invoke
Forgotten nests of trust.

I crave your silver glance of love,
Gold sunrise flashing eye from eye,
To penetrate beneath the mask,
Igniting shriven tears.

Hold out your loving hand, breathe light
To quell the storm-ripped loneliness
That lurks beneath the masks which trap
Us from each others' presence.

Hold out your living hand, clasp tight
As wind-splash thrills careering smiles.
Our spontaneity upwells
To flood the air with song.

Reach out your warm life-giving arms
To guide me into light and truth.
Our pierced and bloodstained hands entwine;
Exchange hot marks of love.

p.g.h@btinternet.com

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Culture: sitemap

Peter Hughes: Introduction