Life’s Hell; Heaven is in our hands

 
 
 
People disappoint.
Parade gorgeous masks of delight
so charming and sweet.
Ever beneath (rude greedy mean)
vampiric stealth in the night.
Too overplayed for deception;
too many days self-deceived.
I like art.
The beautiful mask celebrates,
when well-wrought portrays
the best of us.  Spit the rest,
the unjust, over-blessed,
tawdry fuss, choking fumes,
whingers scraping wounds
on their breasts, unless
their etchings astound, caress the
ideal heart.
Beatific love, despite requite,
beyond petty acts of life,
magic crafted coin:
Art’s how revealed voices join.
.
.
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