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IT, Revisited
BEHOLD, this perilous journey, tis a whimsical tale of woe, that is delightfully bespoken, for welcomed ears to bestow, as a clown be found awakening, his oversized feet abound, his frizzy hair stabbed outwardly, murderously left undone. Methodical preparation set, for an eve of wicked fun, best naught e'er that we forget, a happy ending dares to be none. The entrapment o'er all bargained frills, be suspicious participate, highlights are made upon a stage, instills, a Harlequinade. Buffoonery, and tomfoolery, entertain individuals, unwittingly, tis early be, they naught afraid, poor souls, uniquely, tis a show long run, tis be a mere masquerade, till ghostly haunts, of gravelly taunts, drowns out an ill-fated serenade. This is the start of a crazed delusion, that shades therein a conclusion, apart of the tent, it being an extent for the tenuous strings to one's heart. Significant presence exhales a consequence, chart a darkening, spiritual harvesting, as the chasm widens in receipt thereof, wherein, the devoured souls depart from above. Neath the disguises of clowns galore, the laid foundation that hits the floor, hide their burst of hideous laughter, where good things end in disaster. Thusly, anticipate occasional flurries, the beguiled float in just like canaries, amidst each, a completely new chapter, of some disdain malevolent monster. Ignorantly, people glut themselves, diminutively, like little elves, on a downward trend, oft demonic descend, a cavity whence clowns did extend into the nether region, a place for the condemned. Deep therein, lies a subtle disturbance, as an ashen shroud cause a deterrence, yonder therein lies a coolness, be Dante's Inferno now a resurgence, of an icecapade. Yon dagger glares, of the mimes mimicry, here where Nero's clowning playfully, upon his lyre o'er his beloved Rome, whilst it is smoking albeit known, tis but a passing fancy, for the necromancy, a serenade. Amidst the roaring party, on stage drains the brain, a parody, as a pantomime creates a mockery, so be ye warned of the lurking, the so-called silent murking. The ridiculousness behind their dusty blush, their stamina now all at a hush, reddish lipstick with their frowns, and their made-up minions of designer clowns. Seething in their jerkiness, aloft an obliqueness filters an overcast, the growing crowds neath amassed, as evil jesters are still harassed, with their egos now flabbergast. Behind the banana peel slip-falls, comic cop chase of o'er crowded clown car's, still their smiley lips rise ear to ear, all the while instilling fear, this zany cast that love's to smear. Ye speak of this once more, these looney tunes sinister lore, be a year and a day that they deceive, albeit ye know it as being Hallow's Eve.

2020 February 25
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