~ The Man behind his Mask (Part 1.)

~ A story this night as an incognito devised to save man from the vexation of thinking...

~ The Man behind his Mask (Part 1.)

 

 

 

In the streets of Venice on carnivals night

He walked, compulsive, along the water

His heart was beating as the King of his blood pressure

Crowned with the sweat that poured from his pores

Dripping out of his face, under his mask

To find her was a lifetime task

 

Restless and eagerly of desire to catch her this time

Almost he sniffed her fragrance, truly obsessed.

Speaking aloud, but his words with discretion,

A lost Penetrating mind full of things to do,

What his voice told him to, but

He still had no clue...

 

Violin playing sounded out of the street corners

The acceleration of the song, while he shook his head

It made confuse his path, it distracted him

The voices in his head were talking about his failure

He felt lost, insecure, and confused

Why he had this haunting need, that she must be abused?

 

Closer with the illusion than his sick mind could change

Further away from its conclusion, wandering towards his needs

He runs on pure survival instinct, to catch her glimpse

Just a mystery she was, an elusive fact, hidden far away

Like she was one of a thousand, in the crowd for him a goal

But in his eyes a true special soul...

 

Various ways of suffering he had faced already

Glossed over by the splendor of the night

The little boys dream was thwarted, fallen into pieces...

In the great city of illusion, and all his mind confusion

He lost the key of his thoughts, the true transmitting fusion

He walked to an oasis of self disillusion.

 

He shall overcome the compulsions and head made illustrations

Like an rope around his neck and gives him a feeling he chokes

Tightened with every step he takes,

The way of self destruction he makes, and now much longer...

Does not awake him yet...

The perfection to catch her in his mind is stronger

 

The made pictures in his mind rushed him to feel hate and anger

A neurotic sea full of heavy thoughts stormed and came along

Where the waves splashed to the border of his brain cells

To drown his mind, to numb his thoughts, to kill his perfection

But he needed his gain...

To please her, he thought, he was totally insane

 

She was wearing a mask

Like a million women did this night...

If his neurotic mind was calm, he could just smell her

He was close to her, but preferred to chose

His own forced direction...

He was so overloaded with his own perfumed perfection

 

 
To be continued…

 

 

~ Elisa Laura

 

Author's Note

It's just a poetic story, no film script, nothing more than my own creativity, as I did lived in Italy, and walked across some streets in Venice. Sniffed the air, and felt its embrace...

Reviews

[bookworm]

Like a rope around his neck, gives him a feeling and chokes...perfection...looove that line...this is a bit different for you too, Elisa...telling an entire story like this...and I love that it was based on nothing more profound than walking on the streets of Venice, smelling the air, taking it in...it shows your ability to write from places other than our own ego, suffering, personal drama, etc...well done..xoxo

[WindSong]

This epic poems falls in and out of the shadows of darkness, between what is real and what is fantasy. It wavers on the edge of the unknown and fears it. The last stanza exhibits a gentleness in wanting her with grave passion burning within his soul. So many great lines in The Man behind his Mask. A brilliant work of art!

[KAREN]

You have some amazing lines in this poem, and the imagery gave me that perfect picture, I felt as if I was in Venice walking the streets with that masked man. You out did yourself telling this story.

[Arthur Henn]

I have to admit - I'm a man behind a mask, not a bad man, but one many don't really know until they read me... read the words I write. I can't be the man behind the words I write. When I'm in public and people don't know that I write the words I do and then some one will say - You phrased that just like a poet.

I never let on that I write... I just smile and become quiet and reserved. I'm rubbish on the outside... lol

Your poem made me think of the mask I hide behind. This was a great writing

[Mary Fioratti]

Elisa: What a wonderful poem! What a so well described story that can be related to all of us, looking for perfection, in the wrong direction. So many times we are looking for things that are so close to us, and so easy to detect, but we always walk the very long way... This poem is beautiful - in perfection. Everything that you describe is so real, and so touchable. "He runs on pure survival instinct".... oh Gosh, so many times we run this way, in an instinct survival, and crushing the important things. I loved also the music. Violin is my favorite instrument. and this view of Venice is really really beautiful! Thanks dear, to give a touch of art in my life tonight... (((((hugs))))) *Mary*

[Seshat Nidaba]

Your work is getting tighter, this poem is a transitional poem which to me is like the start of a new kind of poetry.

It felt more cerebral, more complex, more eventful, in the stories you like to tell :) It also gave me confidence that you could pull off a decent short story.

1. Glossed over by the splendor of the night
2. Crowned with the sweat that poured from his pores
3. Like a million women did this night


A freakishly good read.

[Art Sun]

your shinning...even within the scent of perfume...nice ending to this poem...a view of one who is looking for that perfection (To find her was a lifetime task) and yet he is lost within the insanity or sanity of elusiveness...whether a poetic thought, a work of art, or the elusiveness of romance...either way all those mask (Like a million women) keeps one from that attainable/unattainable goal...nice work Elisa....