Runaway`s Masquerade

Runaways vanquish
at the break of day.  
I want to be more
than just a face you see in this place,
so far from alone.
Disgraced;
costumed hate draped around
the world
never really makes sense.
If there’s a home, I’d like to find the road to it.
 
Should’ve been gone from here long ago;  
nomadic tendencies wander
like satin over the hand.
Ribbons of northern lights
entwined in romantic arms.
I may never know how it truly feels.
Astounded.  
Mystified.
I spend each night listening
to the moon in his celestial wisdom
the stars doused in wine colours,
they tell me maybe it’s time...
 
To be through with masquerades,
petty dramas upon a Shakespearean stage.
Fantastic costumes but the
melting faces are less worth the money.
So I walk among people
hiding under street lights,
closer to humanity in the
coffee shop downtown where we met.
It all seemed so simple when you said it.
Soft wanting.
Dreaming.
Was it only another play?
 
I still believe in runaway dreams
clichés about reaching for the stars,
winery words and witchery moons
crafted so delicately.
The world is a mysterious place.
Costumed wonder
never made sense but I love the
hope of arms stretched open wide
to a glistening new sun rise sky,
barefoot through the oceanic waves
astounded.
I’ll be the silhouetted gypsy
at the break of day.  
I’ll be getting out of here.