Shadows And Charades

Charades at the New Year Ball

They play charades across the dance floor,
expectant smiles in dilated eyes,
invitation masked in movement.
They dream of a New Year filled with
hope, and the thrill of human touch.

Once-a-year ballgowns, spinning,
showing off, look at me they say,
read my lips, search for clues,
ask me to dance,
first we have to dance.

Tuxedos mirror black and white,
until the bells, when bow ties dangle,
perhaps the honesty of self-tie,
or an illusion, a subtle sleight of hand,
a shadow pulled from a pocket.

We are all pretending, formality
masks the shadows of our souls.
Behind the radiance we project,
our intentions are dark, and we
play charades with our emotions.