After the bedlam of the circus ends
Forensic analysis must begin
Upon fleecing the rubes, our life depends
Did we, to each face, bring a happy grin?
With a cigarette and a glass of wine
The sorry soul of a clown can be soothed
Strangers might find my strange garb asinine
But by a sad joke, the mood can be smoothed
Making others laugh can warm one's own heart
If the ludic circuit is closed and warm
But if one is laughed at, fond thoughts depart
Even a willing sacrifice feels harm
Under the maquillage, mad and mocking
Gloomy resentment is slowly stalking
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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