PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I was a clown.

I was a clown who lost track

Of the day, the month, the year.

Who ringed his hands of authority.

Who hardly laughed, and often cried.

Who juggled many hats which

He would wear on any given day, or night.

And told the children tall tales

And sang the mothers sweet songs,

But who could never seem to please

Either one.  A sad clown, who read

The banned  books of history

Just to know the passion

Of life, and always stood

Outside,

Outside the glass walls of the dirty city.

The one some argue is a crime

Against humanity,

But which I could not afford

A jail break from.

They all said, "Sing to me!  Sing to me!"

"Grant me something that comes free!"

I was a clown.

I was a clown at an exit but

Couldn't walk through the door.

Who just kept dying at the site of

The free, the young, the brave.

A naked clown without dignity,

Without place or status,

Who barely had a first name.

Banned from spotlight,

Blacklisted, paroled.

Dead on arrival.

They all said, "Sing to me!  Sing to me!"

"Grant me something that comes free!"

I was a clown.

I went to party's but didn't entertain.

Just sat in the corner like a wallflower

And simmered over my loss, and my thankless

Profession.  They said it was my duty,

But I didn't believe them.  So now I am a

Lonesome clown.  I don't go to party's;

I don't entertain.  I don't laugh

As much as I once did.  I sit in

The corner in the dark and listen

To the bitter sweet sadness of

Cello's, like a man standing

At the foot of his

Own 

Unmarked

Grave.