The Patriot’s Mask

Gleaming brass and polished steel,
Stars and stripes reflected
In a face too perfect to be real -
The mask beckons with promises
Of glory days restored.

Beneath its noble profile,
A mouth curved in righteous anger
Whispers of enemies at the gates,
Of pure blood and sacred soil,
Of strength through separation.

Such a beautiful disguise:
Heritage wrapped in heroic gold,
Tradition cast in sterling silver,
Pride painted in primary colors -
But touch it — feel how it burns cold.

Look closer now:
See how the edges curl with rust,
How decay creeps in at the seams,
How the holy words inscribed
Begin to drip like melting wax.

They wear it to meetings,
To rallies, to church,
This face of fabricated virtue
While underneath, truth rots
Like forgotten fruit.

The mask speaks of honor
But breeds only shame,
Preaches protection
But practices pain,
Claims love of country
While poisoning its soil.

Pull it back — dare to look:
See the frightened eyes,
The trembling hands,
The desperate need to believe
In someone else’s strength.

Each morning they fasten it tighter,
These costume patriots,
These carnival soldiers,
Until the mask grows into skin,
Until the lie becomes their face.

But masks crack under pressure,
Split along fault lines of fear,
Reveal the hollow spaces
Where humanity should live,
Where courage should breathe.

So tear it off -
Let fresh air touch
The tender truth beneath.
Feel how freedom really tastes
Without this metal cage.

For true strength needs no disguise,
Real love seeks no enemies,
Authentic pride builds bridges,
Not walls.

The mask lies broken now,
Its glamour scattered like fool’s gold,
While morning light touches
Our naked, human face -
Imperfect, honest, free.