Clown
By: Marc A. Turner Copyright©2001
His words are heard loud
and echo through one’s mind
But his voice is never calling…
his sounds you will not find
Some take all they can hear;
few leave with just a trace
Most times his chamber’s empty…
hidden by the clown’s bright face
Smiles, cheers, and laughter
are not foreign to this guy
They seem to follow him,
for which he always wondered why
When they need someone to laugh at…
he’ll always play the part
The laughter always covered up…
the pain deep in his heart
Alone with all the ache,
he had so much he could not share
It often felt like no way out…
just too much to bear
Somehow though it always passed
and the world kept coming back
Spinning hard, floating…
in a cosmos colored black
Outlined at night by distant fires,
millions of light years old
He finally understood…
white-hot lightning, is sometimes just ice cold
The magic that one sees
in the beautiful twinkling of the stars
Is like the spotlight on the clown…
one sees the face, but not the scars.
01/27/02