Some say

A crutch

Is a

Weakness a

Lean-to a

Support no

It isn’t

It is

Defiance an

Acceptance that

In life

Things fail

Us and

Only the

Strong admit

Stand up

And continue

On always

We met

At a

Masquerade ball

Not seeing

What we

Normally see

Instead listening

To things

We never

Heard and

At midnight

Masks were

Dropped and

There we

Stood now

More attracted

Than ever

Because then

We saw

The face

That whispered

The melodies

Upon which

We sang

Are we

All not

Just bruised

Fruits whose

Skin has

Wrinkled and

Pulp has

Bittered don’t

We all

Want to

Be fresh

And washed

And coddled

Perhaps we

Weren’t plucked

To be

Eaten but

Rather placed

In a

Pie or

Preserve and

Enjoyed always

By many

When a

Man lays

Dormant and

Capped and

When plates

Shift and

From deep

Beneath a

Fire surges

All in

It’s path

Will suffer

Even mankind