A Masquerade of Shadows
Weltschmerz des Leviathan – Catie Chua
Benya Wilfret
In the shadowed vale where no light dares to tread,
Where the river whispers secrets of the dead,
Stood a manor, ancient, cloaked in dread,
Its stones soaked with tales left unsaid.
Its Lord, a figure shrouded in mystery,
Walked its halls, a ghost among history,
His heart a crypt, his eyes, a cemetery,
Of dreams once alive, now buried anery.
One night, under a moon blood-red,
A gathering of souls, to the manor led,
Each masked, each silent, a dance of the dead,
A masquerade where the living plead.
The lord watched from his throne, so cold,
As stories unfolded, secrets told,
Of love lost, of hearts sold,
Of the price of pride, bold.
A knock echoed, sudden, clear,
A figure at the door, the guests froze in fear,
For none was expected, yet here,
Stood Death, its message severe.
“I come for the one who hides from his sin,
Who buries his guilt, deep within,
Who wears a mask, to never begin,
To face the darkness, his twin.”
The lord stepped forward, his mask in hand,
Revealing a face, pale, bland,
“I am he, with death I stand,
Ready to follow your command.”
But Death shook its head, its voice a sigh,
“Not for you, the time to die,
But to see with open eye,
The truth you deny.”
With a sweep of its cloak, the scene changed,
The manor, the guests, all rearranged,
No longer masked, no longer estranged,
But faces of those he had pained.
The lord saw his life, in truth’s harsh light,
The pain he caused, the endless night,
He fell to his knees, gave up the fight,
And wept, for the first sight.
Death’s lesson was clear, its judgment just,
In life, in love, in trust,
We must face our sins, we must,
Before we return to dust.
The manor stands still, in the vale so deep,
Where secrets lie, where shadows creep,
But its lord walks free, no longer asleep,
Awake in life, his soul to keep.
This tale of darkness, of seeing anew,
Reminds us of the power, of truth’s due,
For only in facing the darkness, can we view,
The light that in each of us, ever grew.