The Mask

My glasses are the mask--
The thick glass shields me
Their glossy black frames
And shiny silver dots.

My glasses are the wise translator--
Changing once gibberish
Into the crystal clear
His creaking arms
Stiff from use.

My glasses are the sword--
Battling the mighty
Killing the fearsome
Defending me.

As the night ends
They are placed
On the bed of books--
Forgotten, put to rest.