Lamentation

Lamenting this exquisite ruse
Brings me low
To the floor of reason
Where the hard, fast lines
Look black and white
And do not allow for
The color of expression's joy.

Always it draws me to its side,
Pulls me in
To the height of pleasure
Where there's nothing beside
The lack of lines,
And the call of nature
Drinks in its silent applause.

The trick is ever upon me,
Hits me hard
With the force of recoil,
While mocking laughter
Draws back the lines
That cage fond intention,
Putting the mask in its place.