Writer 2
The Reluctant Queen
The brawl grows, he’s taken back, dodge, roll, feint, whack!
Her blade’s attack pierces with a clanging crack
Blood. As he enters, hush falls, ashy embers and dust fall
A wounded villain comes crashing center and then all
Goes silent. Scenes of slow triumph, change to show tyrants
Toppled. She marvels at how life can be so righteous
Awful events, impossible pretense, she’s the true heir
At first few cared, but post-victory there’s a new air.
***
The crowd cheers with a ferocity that pounds ears
Loud, near: “There she is! I can’t believe the crown’s here!”
“We love you as a goddess! Your character is flawless!”
She blushes amidst compliments and narrowest of pauses
“We worship your talents! The way you act is truly gallant!”
Words flutter through a set reminiscent of beauty pageants
Overly formal, she’s only mortal, but can’t seem appalled
Approaches the podium smiling “I’m glad to see you all…”
***
When she’s finally home alone the facade falls fast
Sure she auditioned for the role but got called last
Got lucky this time, but most often lost her best bets
The fame came with exhaustion, stalkers, death threats
It was her last wish, being an actress never meant less
But her mind whispers since you have this then you’ve been blessed
What good have you had in life you haven’t second-guessed?
The mental stress is part of your trail toward sure success
Don’t be dumb, just think from the view of the people
Being a star went to your head, now you’re snooty and regal?
The mask goes back on like a noose that’s non-lethal
Starts writing an email: “I’d love to start shooting the sequel…”
VS
Writer 11
One is All, All is One
Perhaps you saw that pic and have a lot of questions;
Have no fear. I derive the hidden truths inside the artist’s sketches,
I unlock the hidden meanings for your comprehension.
First the mask. Its wearer dons the countenance of honest ethics,
Of conformist social graces, all the pureness you could show,
But the eyes are ringed with black. They are the windows to the soul.
And the girl: she is us. I know not what her character is
The perfect feminine chick? Or a hell of a bitch?
It could be either, both, or none. And I don’t mean this in a racial way,
But some are lighter, some are darker, most in shades of grey,
Few completely good or evil. Fewer stay the same,
Their hue fluctuates, always changing place
To remove the mask in public can be certainly hectic
Yet if you leave it on in private, that’s a personal death wish
In the worst case forgetting what you were to begin with
“Be yourself…” spake the beast, and many listened,
While knowing the addendum: “…within rigid limits.”
Its form is subtly different between men and women;
The senior’s model varies from the little children’s
With different flourishes. But its bleached form invariant
To blend in with white lies. Who among you is a Seraphim?
You claim to death the mask is you, so my belief is stretched very thin.
Blindly arrogant, you say: “This mask of saints - don and cherish it!”
Yet you never can acknowledge your own vile statements. Rather, you say, “You refuse to wear the mask out of close-minded hatred.”