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Pretty little lass
Whither would ye go now, love,
Dark thoughts settling in.
Harlequin; the air-borne satyr, with his glittering mask, as he dances with lithe movements like the wind in the wooden realms of the imagination.
The mask everytime, it hides so much, and everyone chooses to hide behind one, sometimes unwittingly, sometimes delibrately, but hiding nonetheless. And only the eyes, that remain naked, dare tell the truth, but no one bothers to look, as the facade that presents itself claims all the attention.
It is a motley of emotions that have been forcibly generated that we see, and their variance form the colors of the robes that Harlequin wears....... a masquerade where the norm of the day is deceit, and you remove one mask only to replace it with another.........