Conflict

It hounds me day and night,
the damned question that wears me dry.
There is no mercy and no respite,
from this conflict of...
Who am I?



One moment I'm a jolly smiling fellow,
full of wonder and ecstasy.
A heartbeat later my smiles morph into frowns,
cloaking me head to toe in dark shrouds of misery.

My soul is lost and terrified each passing hour,
every other person discerns it by a different name.
Some believe it to be a snob bitter and sour,
while some shy away, scorning me insane.

Crowds friendly enough surround me,
I make some ground their teeth.
A number just roll their eyes,
while a few silently seethe.

My emotions, they rage skirmishes within,
and each leaves me battered and dazed.
I try and steady myself in the deafening clangour and din,
as I stumble through this storm in a blind haze.

Perchance they may be nothing but masks,
worn to cloud my true glimpse.
Yet even as I flay one away,
another beneath it slyly slinks.

It is in this hour of despair and fury,
that dawn finally breaks through.
These masks are a part of me,
and each one rings true.

As I blue this worn and weary paper,
I find the masks are not conjured facades.
I am a crystal of many faces,
and these are simply my facets.