The builder of masks

  Once again, once upon a time

  There lived a builder of many a mask

  Most intricate and serpentine

  The most beautiful one could ever ask

  Each dazzling work

  A crafted miracle

  Of wondrous sort

  In his art, he was the pinnacle

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  Every day of the year, a different mask he wore

  To his great pride and splendor

  They had became his very core

  And no longer was he capable of candor

  Yet, soon enough he found

  That by strange illness befallen

  He could no longer hear the sound

  That for so long made his art solemn

  So before long, his masks fell to decay

  And unattached from their master

  For the first time, with himself he had to parlay

  Only to find, that he could not escape any faster

  For his face was an abysmal unknown

  Every feature, lacking a name

  As he had ripped what he had sown

  And he could no longer recognize what he had became

  So to the streets he went

  Desperately pleading for help

  Asking anyone what this truly meant

  Screaming that his very face had melt

  Yet, to his great surprise

  Each and every one

  Had spelled his confused demise

  Letting him know he still had one

  Still convinced of his facelessness

  The builder quickly ran to a mirror

  Yet was met with the same shapelessness

  And could not see any clearer

  For in his prideful and boastful art

  That he so unabashedly wore

  He found himself so lost in a part

  That bit by bit, his true self tore