This Avatar

Steven Rooke – evolved African mask

This avatar
This cold grey mask
This, the face of another man
This, what I know is true
This, what I know of you
That is what I need to say
That is what I have to do
In the metaphoric uniform I’m forced to wear
This, a statement of intent
This, the smell of burning incense
This, the sum of a life experienced
This tepid pool of rain
This yellow wall of pain
This, the here and now for you to taste and swallow
These, the awful truths
The grit and grime of meshing gears
The sound of traffic in the night
This, the destination known
This, the garden overgrown
The shadows that lurk on leaf and stone
These the crimes for which I must atone
This, a moral kiosk, a stage whisper aside
Here the face of all that can be justified
This shimmering mirage the horizon heat shivers
This night of abject terrors
these the shards of glass that line the hall of mirrors
These, my fingers on the keys, my toes in my plastic shoes
The words that tumble forth like thoughts encased in gobs of glue
this the tarnished brass of past achievements lost
this the pitted sky where all the questions glimmer but refuse to yield
this the sound of man in anger toys are tossed
this the hollow caravan
of camels bent against the sun
these the Bedouin
whose eyes have watched the desert demons rage
these the Eskimo
whose teeth have torn the northern sky
their children tanned but never learned to fly
these the nations brave
whose sons have borne the brunt of empire
their culture torn like bark from tree
this the conqueror with bloodlust justified by bible black
This gold to gleam on the heads of king and queen
This the civilisation of the savage man
This the destruction of the ancients
This the birth of cool; the dance macabre of capital gain
This the anaesthetisation of learning pain
These cold eyes behind a mask of rain
These warm hands on your face to frame
This smile of pure regard and passion flame
This, my face in mirror weekend real
This, my life in moments treasured here to steal
This me
This you

The format for this is stolen from Brian Eno's elecronic chant 'This'
From his beautiful album "Another Day on Earth" They do say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery