[Imagem] William Shakespeare

How many mask wear we, and undermasks,
Upon our countenance of soul. and when,
If for self-sport the soul itself unmasks,
Knows it the last mask of and the face plain?
The true mask feels no inside to the mask
But looks out of the mask by co-masked eyes.
Whatever consciousness begins the task
The task's accepted use to sleepiness ties.
Like a child frightened by its mirrored faces.
Our souls, that children are, being thought-losing,
Foist otherness upon their seen grimaces
And get a whole world where their forgot causing
And, when a thought would unmask our soul's masking.
Itself goes not unmask to the unmasking.

William Shakespeare