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He mimicked all who entered the darkened room, 
felt the fear in their eyes when watched with zeal.
He was a performer and his sidekick Sid seemed real.
Was that really him or was he wearing a costume?
He was just entertaining, they all did assume. 

His mouth closed yet voices heard with reverberation,
the microphone shrieked when laughter was heard. 
A comedian on stage though he said not one word
giving the excited audience an amusing sensation. 
When he was through they clapped in celebration. 

The curtain closes, and he cries; tears fall like rain,
he longs to be the laughter he gives while performing, 
yet deep inside he knows that he is just mourning.
All the acting and engaging never erases the pain,
the show must go on, his humor must remain. 

A ventriloquist who suffered from sadness so intense,
just a man who is applauded when feeling self-pity.
For he is a clown on stage, the king of Second City,
but his anguish too much, his torment too immense. 
He was always so happy, this didn’t make any sense. 

This man grew old and kept his sidekick Sid near,
he kept it in a locked in a drawer by the staircase.
It was available to open up and take out just in case
he wanted to restart his overshadowed and lost career.
He died suddenly, and Sid went directly to the auctioneer.

Sid was sold for a measly ten dollars; no less no more.
A mother bought him for her son to play with his dad,
but suddenly the son began to act strange and sad.
Sid was nothing but a dummy who brought abhor,
a lifeless evil fiend that hated being kept in a drawer. 

Years passed, and Sid never found a true mate,
filled with rage he never let go of his hate. 



The Ventriloquist Contest
June 21, 2018

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