Sombre are the clowns
Contributed by
5MinutePoet
on
Thursday, 14th June 2007 @ 10:13:37 AM in AEST
Topic:
oops
|
Memories cascade through my mind,
Red as the claret through the waterfalls,
As the clown clenches his sombre fist,
And the children , they don't play no more,
Feelings have taken that final hit,
A shot to pass my waning mind,
Burning steel to purge my sinful soul,
The devil jigs his sadistic tune,
And compelled are we to dance along,
Drying is the stench foul on the air,
To which my ember encompassed,
Just another lost child of the world,
Another student short of result,
Hanging from the devils face are we,
Gaunt pale ruthless and regretfull,
Nothing could we ever forsee
For we are the damned,
And damned forgetful,
We bleed our apologies,
And afix a gaze upon the heaven,
To late now for redemption,
To late to dissapear the knife
Foul intention or motive,
To late now to re write the annuls
And become once more a saviour.
Something burns my brood from within,
A heart smouldering with brazen
Relentless attacks of the conceince,
And the white coat cries,
For it fits no longer,
To the children playing their morbid tune,
The children with no music,
The children ran another mile,
But long forgot was their colour,
Running were we fomr them,
Though further did they get,
Mistakes of another generation,
Must always we mistake again,
Miss taking the laughter of deserved,
I pay the price of condemnation,
For taking the futures of ill conceived,
Plans were blue prints of my trade,
While the cowboys the tools,
Eponymous heroes of hades,
Naught were faught for the battle,
A fight did of course ensue,
But only reputation was for winning,
All could gain but me,
Another dies for wars of crime,
Of crime the war i fuel,
Never would i agree to the vividness,
The darkness is my only vision,
Never could i see the hearts
In this dank dark cellar prison,
What crime did i commit,
Or maybe my crime was neglect,
Harvesting the dreams of young lovers,
Only the dreams did not i take,
Others would feel the touch of my blade,
Begging, screaming, submitting, obeyed,
For their liberties i had forbade,
I was a king of the crimson cleanse,
Cleaner was the light i forsaked,
Never twain nor twixt, but through,
A portal to your heir and after,
The real tamperer of your futures,
Ne'er more so was the discontent,
From those to which i spit and spat,
Terror was the card i called on,
But never was the clown more sombre
Lacking recognition or received no praise,
Never was the clown clenching harder,
Never did pass his lips words or phrase,
Never had the juggler wandered,
With knifes showing not loft nor flare,
The streets lay desolate minus applause,
Daytimes as nights my vision so dark,
Became the bane to those who entertain,
My blakened heart charred to your tears,
And a murderous soul beyond reproach,
Never heard was the laughter From Fete to fair,
Never held again the circus,
For fear the rampaging harlequins,
Becomming slaughter rooms of big tops,
Waltzers now and never for the amused,
For now the clowns and jesters come hunting,
Weary is my troubled soul,
That took away sacrificial like the mirth,
Running the fugitive not for me,
Taken naught but only a candle,
Flame enough that licks to caress my face,
Nothing more for the sacred did i turn,
To find amidst the shadows and sleaze,
There lurking for me a callus stranger,
Greeted he with ice cold blade,
Twas once obvious to be a jester,
One for whom my predeliction forbade.
Now they tell me of the colour and the laughter,
The children running unashamed and free,
And in no small part did i contribute,
Without my death their lives could never be
Copyright ©
5MinutePoet
... [
2007-06-14 10:13:37]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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