Behind the Veil

MissT

I laugh too loud to drown the hum beneath,
call it charm though it masks my grief.
Each jest a ward, each quip a prayer,
to keep my shadows unaware.

Sarcasm drapes me in mourning lace,
a jesting veil across my face.
It hides the ghosts that stir within,
the cracked cathedral of my skin.

It is a castle wall — stone set to break my fall
uncracked but weary, bearing all.
The mortar thins with passing years,
each echo fed on quiet fears.

Cathedral candles gutter low,
their wax like tears the seasons know.
The air is thick with time’s old hymns,
that sigh through splintered, weathered limbs.

I wear my pain like borrowed art,
a costume stitched to hide my heart.
Beneath the lights, I dance and spin,
pretending none can see within.

No one looks behind the veil,
no hand extends, no question frail.
I keep the cracks beneath control,
and play the part that guards the soul.