The Devil's Masquerade

The artistic director makes a decree,

The mere mortals below not considered,

Extra work, extra steps, embarrassment,

We don our masks and play our part, embittered.

Working hard but never working smart

A prized commodity the Company demands.

The audience cushioned in its entitlement,

Our heels cracked and bruised be damned.

We plié on command for the show must go on,

Falling out of pirouettes, exhausted and lamentable.

We waltz on pointe to prove our loyalty

Yet the audience pelts us with vegetables.

When one dares whisper discontent,

And her mask slips to reveal the truth beneath

All others masked are obligated to judgment,

Must ostracize, shun the one with unbelief.

The one who denied the Mask is cast out

Into utter darkness; others who waver disciplined.

In the Company, martial law is forever in effect

With inability to conform being the original sin.

Those left live in self-preserving fantasies,

In denial of the countless casualties,

For their service, hope those above in their debt,

The cost of admission is yourself to deceive.

The artistic director flounces on stage for the curtain call,

Congratulating herself while over the stage falls a hush.

Though all her dancers burned out, overspent,

She doesn’t even know how to blush.

For her, prosperity and spoils abound,

But not for us, and we dare not discuss

For the Mask allows for no dissenting comment,

So we conclude with a pledge to those who shackle us.