Big Top-Falling Down

Soul Poetry

Call me the ringmaster

of my three ring circus.

Front and center,

in top hat and tails.

Call me a trapeze artist-

I walk a tightrope

with no safety net below.

No one to catch me,

should I slip off taut wire

and plunge dead center.

Call me the clown-

face permanently painted

with tears and down turned smile,

emotional makeup bag always at hand,

should mood move to change

and someone desire to laugh.

Call me the lion tamer-

alone in the beast's lair,

no whip, no chair,

while the king of this jungle

eats me alive.

Call me the juggler-

precariously balancing lives,

which spin on ends of poles,

solely responsible for the twirling,

delicate spheres of porcelain,

lest they crash at my feet in jagged splinters.

Call me the show stopper-

for should I quit,

this never traveling circus is cancelled~

big top-falling down.

Call me the ringmaster.

©Cathy Faist 04/03

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