Beneath their masks that blind their eyes,
Pretending they can't hear our cries,
Are men and women in desperate need
Of forgetting Voldemort's creed
That consists of prejudice lies.

They knew they needed pure-blood ties
To live beneath the troubled skies.
They feel as if they must succeed
Beneath their masks.

Some forgot that every man dies,
But only thought of the grand prize!
Their thoughts became foggy with greed
And now they laugh when others bleed,
And all that's good, they now despise
Beneath their masks.

---

A/N:
I originally wrote this to submit to the Rondeau Challenge, but while a Rondeau must have a twist in the mood (as in dark lines to light or vice versa), I realized that basically the whole poem was pretty morbid, so I wrote *more* Rondeau poems. One will be submitted to the contest, others will just be posted.