Speaking Of Masks Poem by Raymond Farrell

Some men have a hard iron mask they wear
Sometimes they put it on to sit and glare
It's not the way they feel inside
It's just another way to hide.

How often I meet an empty mask
Doing some mundane boring task
Behind this mask a face must dwell
What's it like - I cannot tell.

Why don't we drop the mask, it's empty gaze
The front of every mindless craze
The world would be a better place
If you and I would wear a face.