Luscious Curtains

No Eyelids


The luscious curtains fall

and the once giddy clown

adopts a slouch and frown.

He gently grabs a bright red rose

from the polished oak stage,

awaiting romantical spur

thus enhancing the day mood.

The truth is merely a brood

of desire and the face freezes,

wishing to weep, thinking,

"But a perfect wife indeed

would surely save my sad soul,"

dismal with the red paint

melting on his haunted face.


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J9thxciv's picture

This is eerie, as clowns so

This is eerie, as clowns so often are.  I applaud the poem's brevity, in which you have compressed the implication of a hughe backstory.


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