Voila. Another one. Enjoy.
MASKED STUART
Alastair Skerman
There was a young boy who lived with a mask,
Hiding from sight, yet the people would ask,
‘Oh simply young Stu,’ (for that was his name)
‘Why wear that mask? It only brings shame.’
Stu would not answer and passed straight on by
For the words would more than not make him cry.
Why were they cruel for such a harmless contraption?
It was not as if he followed by homicidal action.
He would lie in his bed, the only place ever
He would take off his mask with its musky old leather,
Determined to work and live and lead a good life,
To found a fine business and find a good wife.
He once told this to his guardian, an honest old farmer,
Who laughed at his dreams and thought it some drama,
And Stu did not blame him for a face such as his
Would certainly not grant a voluntary kiss.
It was the same every day until one fateful July,
When the summer was hot and the boy he did lie
To the farmer in order to go down to town,
As the circus was in, and a world famous clown
Was being said to perform for this night alone
And Stu was in need of his wild carefree tone.
He donned his mask and stole away in the night
High in his hopes without a single shred of fright.
Stu never saw that world famous clown that day
Or any other, for that matter I could say.
He was on his way, taking a shortcut through the woods,
Ignorant and in one of his young hopeful moods,
Whistling along and kicking up the leaves
When out of the shadows sprout a large group of thieves.
‘What have we got here?’ The biggest one said,
‘A little young freak. He deserves to be dead,
Just look at that mask. Imagine, if you can,
He must have a face of a beast and not of a man!’
All the others did laugh like drugged lunatics
Although in their vile sick heads they were thinking of tricks
To beat poor young Stuart down to nothing but dust,
Take all his money and leave him to rust.
Stu was quite sick, but not of a disease.
He was tired of men just doing as they pleased.
Insulting and beating, the thieves they did kick,
But unluckily for them it caused his to click.
He grabbed a man and bit down hard,
Teeth tearing through his mask as if it were lard.
He tore with his fingers and roared with his heart,
The men running and screaming but just playing a part
In Stu’s own violent game, and since he’d changed in a glance,
These vile hopeless fools didn’t stand a chance.
The leaves were soaked in red and the air was thick
With the scent of the dead and not of the sick.
Masked Stu was cleared of his anger and rage,
And within that moment he had grown of an age
When he knew that the world didn’t have to own him,
He would own the world and take away whim.
He disappeared soon after, so oddly enough.
Perhaps he came across someone who was simply too tough.
But I can’t help but thinking perhaps he’s still at large
And taking his vengeance with his heart-filled charge.
But deep down inside, I know he can still wish,
For that dream of a simple voluntary kiss.
