To those who have been with me since the beginning, this will be familiar.  But I’ve always kind of liked this one, so I thought I’d post it again for the Poetry Train passengers. 🙂 

masks.jpg 

Self-Appointed Paragon     

She lords it over every gathering
As if hers is the example to uphold.
She speaks with fat words
Favors pejorative replies
And pretension lies upon her face
Ornamental and bold.

She suffers from proper etiquette fixation
A pious and unwavering thicket.
Fills her quota of one good deed per week,
For in her world,
You must rack up enough points
To score the big ticket.

I’m fascinated by her unflagging display
Her need to don the war paint,
Then perform
An almost poetic dance
Along that fine line
Between hypocrite and saint.

I feel nothing but sorrow
Watching her desperate search for grace.
For she will never find it
Not as long as she looks at the world
Through the reflection of self-
Through her own perfected space.

But, I once glimpsed beyond that mask
A woman in fear of crash landing.
And in that brief moment of clarity,
I understood
That maybe one person’s perspective
Is just another’s misunderstanding.

———–

Take A Ride on Rhian’s Monday Poetry Train!