We can wear myriad masks and faces.
We can be kings, queens, connoisseurs or clowns;
Cool comic book heroes or troubadours.
Yet when are masks become rigid; frozen,
We might bury the warm, precious light of
Our real selves; deep down in the psyche’s
Hidden, shadowy realms. O we can lose
This light and never hope to recover it.
When Masks Become Frozen
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