Crowd Has Many Faces

I am someone’s lover,
and bereft of another;
I am a teller of truth,
and an edge of sham.

I am a crowd of people,
yet aware of none;
I am a dream to people,
and a nightmare to the lonely.

I am a hunger and a sorrow,
starving for my desires;
I am a hope and an agony,
and the pretender of life.

I am the part of a few mornings,
but in lieu of some mourning;
I renounce the grimaces —
yet still, the crowd has many faces.