Tied

Feel this has come to a good stage but something for me isn't right. What do you think?

Tied

One of the last ties I saw him
in spews out musty breath
from its uncomfortable
pattern.

They were a useful
disguise for the letters
piled up unopened,
full of

a truth that was not
allowed at home.
I learnt that ties
were masks

used by those asking for
cash, votes, love,
faith, often all
at once,

all speaking the language
that dictates the world
to turn in their
direction.

I barely wear them,
my eyes no longer in awe
of the details, how many
I’d have

in what colours, a sign you
you have grown
in to the world,
upright

like a tree protecting
the undergrowth,
knowing we are
mortal,

that masks slip
with the last breath of
truth escaping
on the back

of their words,
no more than a
leaf adrift
on the wind.