#lemasque

Français: il est pas magnifique

AN    ETERNITY    WITH    EYES    CLOSED                    an existence spent stilled  ,    in the dark  ----    but flooded with music    &    sound                    (    i know you by footfall alone  ,    i have walked these halls a thousand times in my mind    /    mapped out the stairs  ,    the path leading to the grand stage where melodies poured from the hearts of men i could never know    )                    they’ve each seen my face  !    they have marveled at my existence  ,    pondered upon who cast me in gold    /    who formed the nuances of my features  ,    who gave me such life  ----    and in truth i do not know                    I    THINK    IF    ANYTHING    HAS    BROUGHT    ME    TO    LIFE  ,    IT    HAS    BEEN    YOUR    TOUCH                    (    burdened creature  ,    hidden in darkness  ,    you have named the shadows your friends    )                    don’t you ache  ?    does your heart yearn to be known  ?    do the soles of your feet hurt from wandering alone for so long  ?                    ❝  i never imagined the stage looked like this  ❞                    he sounds nearly breathless  ,    captivated  ,    his fingers interwoven with erik’s as he’s led through the darkened building  ----    let by candlelight  ,    an angel guiding them

  ❝  do you ever sing  ?    i always hear you play  ----  ❞                        a hurried step forward  ,    chin rested against the tall slope of his shoulder                    ❝  ----    but i’ve never heard you sing  ❞  

𝑡ℎ𝑒    𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒    𝑠𝑎𝑡    𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑    𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚    𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦  ,                     it was quiet  ,    far away a dozen dancers slept peacefully  ----    instruments put to bed in their cases  ,    the stage yawning as the lights grew dim    &    the rooms grew cold and absent  .    but they were here still  ,    sat before one another                      (    and she sang for him  ----    the croon of a dove    /    the chorus of a heavenly angel    /    divine    &    beautiful in the way only haunted things were    )                    𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡    𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙  ----    𝑠ℎ𝑒’𝑠    𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑛    𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ  !                    I   STOOD   OVER   MY   MOTHERS   GRAVE   BEFORE   I   EVEN   KNEW   HOW   TO   CRAWL                    as a girl i saw her all around me  ;    in the boughs of snow covered trees  ,    in papa’s voice as he sang russian lullabies in crude broken tones  ,    in pools of moonlight    &    water    &    dreams of koschei’s palace

and now she was here  ,    with him  ,    swept away by the call of his song    /    𝑎𝑛    𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙    𝑐𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑    𝑡𝑜    𝑠𝑙𝑎𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑒𝑟    𝑎𝑡    ℎ𝑖𝑠    𝑑𝑜𝑜𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑝                    ❛  erik  ----  ❜                    her voice was hesitant  ,    and his name rested on her tongue in the way only the most tender of whispers did                    (    i hold your name as a lover    /    as a saint  ,    i cherish the way it fits in my mouth  ,    it molds to my lungs  ,    𝑎𝑠    𝑖𝑓    𝑦𝑜𝑢    𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒    𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠    𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑡    𝑡𝑜    𝑏𝑒    𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒    )                    ❛  you’ve  .  .  .    made a note  ,    here  ,    over these lines  ----    what does it mean  ?  ❜