Poem -
Lost Clown
Frozen town,Â
Lost clown,
Forlorn shadow in the park
Roving the path up and down,
Sewing his fate in the dark.
…
Cold shivers as a gown,
An headache for a crown,
Empting a bottle of scotch,Â
Drifting alone, up and down…
What’s the point in being a clown
When there is no one to watch?
…
In the middle of nowhere,
A numbly feeling of scare
Misplaced itself back to front…
… Was a hint of nightmare!
Not the many we share
But the only one we don’t.
…
Theatrical grope,
Leaning rain;
Moon of hope
In long sustain…
…
Shall life win once again,
Or shall the end of a rope
Be also the end of pain?
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Comments
I love this image; as though the 'clown' in your poem is Klotho, the Fate who spins the rope of her charges lives...knowing that, one day, that rope must be cut forever by her sister Atropos.
We are all clowns in our way; stumbling around the world of our own little tragicomedy...providing entertainment for the gods, or each other, or no-one in particular!
Insightful, intriguing and beautifully brought to life.
J ;)
Wise words jason. And thank you for your comment. I was afraid people could think it was too dark. But it's just an allegory of a state of mind.Â
You guys don't know how much your words mean to me. Thank you... Or to say in my mother language: muito obrigado