The Masquerade
She wears a mask,
A plain white mask,
Nothing etched onto that perfect white,
As she glides down the stairs to the ball--
Looking around, no one can see her,
She is but a ghost,
Gliding amongst the living,
Tears silently filling her eyes--
A loneliness like no other,
Fills her soul,
The mask still concealing her lovely face,
She sits to the side and cries--
Do not be mistaken,
This maiden will not deceive,
Graceful her steps,
And yet the sadness looms within her--
No one notices the woman with the white mask,
The mask so perfectly empty,
It seems so out of place,
And yet it seems to blend in--
A plain white mask,
Nothing etched onto that perfect white,
As she glides down the stairs to the ball--
Looking around, no one can see her,
She is but a ghost,
Gliding amongst the living,
Tears silently filling her eyes--
A loneliness like no other,
Fills her soul,
The mask still concealing her lovely face,
She sits to the side and cries--
Do not be mistaken,
This maiden will not deceive,
Graceful her steps,
And yet the sadness looms within her--
No one notices the woman with the white mask,
The mask so perfectly empty,
It seems so out of place,
And yet it seems to blend in--
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