One night a poem came up to a poet <br />From now on, it said, you must wear a mask. <br />What kind of mask? asked the poet. <br />A rose mask, said the poem. <br />I've used it already, said the poet, <br />I've exhausted it. <br />Then wear the mask that's made out of <br />a nightingale's song, use that mask. <br />Oh, it's an old mask, said the poet, <br />it's all used up. <br />Nonsense, said the poem, it's the perfect mask, <br />still, try on the god mask, <br />now that mask illuminates heaven. <br />It's a tight mask, said the poet, <br />and the stars crawl about in it like ants. <br />Then try on the troubador's mask, or the singer's mask, <br />try on all the popular masks. <br />I have, said the poet, but they fit so easily. <br /> <br />The poem was getting impatient, <br />it stamped its feet like a child, <br />it screamed. Then try on your own face, <br />try the one mask that terrifies, <br />the mask only you could possibly use, <br />the mask only you could wear out. <br /> <br />The poet tore at his face til it bled, <br />this mask? he yelled, this mask? <br />Yes, said the poem, yes. <br /> <br />But the poet was tired of masks, <br />he had lived too long with them, <br />he snatched at the poem and stuck it in his face. <br />Its screams were muffled, it wept, it tried to be lyrical, <br />it wriggled into his eyes and mouth. <br /> <br />Next day his friends were afraid of him, <br />he looked so distorted. <br />Now it's the right mask, said the poem, the right mask. <br />It clung to him lovingly and never let go again.<br /><br />Brian Patten<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-right-mask/
