The Ending of the Half-written Poem

...And the guests were all gathered
Staring at the door.
The footsteps tripped lightly onwards
A hand on the lock,
And it opened.

She stood there, gazing around
In mild surprise
Her hair put up, make-up correct,
A long beautiful dress
She smiled;
"Hello! How do you do?
Would anyone like a drink? Something to eat?"

They responded, normally,
Her cordiality breaking them from
Their time-locked silence.
She moved into the kitchen;
They looked at each other,
Unable to believe
That the screams and wild tears
Wrenching though they knew not the cause
Had come from this
Self composed woman.

They began to believe
That they had imagined, hallucinated,
Laughed at each other,
Compared stories and found the fallacies -
I heard two wails,
I heard one scream.

She heard them as she boiled the kettle,
That smile, soft, fleeting
Edged with bitterness and cynicism
Flew over her mouth
And then she sighed
For what were they but human,
And so was she, she who knew them
Well enough to know
That appearances always matter to the masses
And no one wants to believe in nightmares.

She went out with the tray
And offered them drinks,
Laughed with them.
"Is anyone else upstairs?"
"Of course not! Only my mother and I."
She smiled at her mother,
Who also knew the trick
Of covering tear tracks with mascara
And turning up a quivering lip
Into a smile.
The lesson learned.

The life to be lived.