The Masque of the Joyful Sorrow

I glance across the crowded floor and find you looking back.

Our eyes meet momentarily, startled you look away.
Yet you turn too late,
I glimpse the truth buried deep within your heart.
Drawn by hidden desire, I wend my way towards you,
through rowdy dancers I weave.
Eyebrows raised, the hoofers continue to cavort, consumed by weary dirge.
I approach, my heart alights at gentle smile playing upon your lips.

The Masque pauses.

The gentry look up from their stupor, watching with heavy eyes,
scandal consumes their very souls as they wait for the opportunity to tell more lies.
Always watching the steps we make, impolite tongues wag, unraveled by the wine.
Eager revelers leer with drunken delight,
gossip frozen on their lips - their drinks held tight.

The Masque resumes its pace.

With restrained heart you take my hand as we walk to the centre floor,
Hand in hand, we dance to our own beat, we move together as one.
Time passes but nothing changes between us, despite the pain.
Spring’s bitterness is forgotten, lost are we, enthralled amidst winter’s joy.
I laugh and hear you giggle as we start to sway,
Yet you hold back, never losing yourself entirely to our dance.

The Masque begins to end.

Our tune tires all too soon, replaced by the decadent song of the Masque.
Still chaste you return to your seat and I to mine,
both alone, lost within our own separate thoughts,
My eyes linger dreamily on the moments we once had.
And the moments to come.

I glance across the crowded floor and find you looking back.