Tears of a Clown
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Written for the Iron maiden " Tears of a Clown" song contest sponsored by Robert James L
S t r e n g t h ~
a somersaulting sigil
you wear in stillness,
when the gold of ascending dawn
kisses the skin of sleeping sand,
when the skylark softly
serenades serenity for the unseen,
while I trace the running lifelines
behind your magical masquerade,
for you’ve long been
a hyacinth healer ~
a poetic feeler, quick to paint
smiles from the dripping sangria of sorrow,
filling the air with mellifluous mantras,
as you stand, lips tinged with salt,
from thunderstruck drumbeats
lost in the circus of l i f e,
where kindness is labeled
as manipulation,
and empathy is dismissed
like an empty sign of weakness…
O silent warrior, hope-weaver,
disguised as a jester,
to speak
the truth of tears,
must the moon in your soul spin
puns with riddled regrets,
mimicking remorseful cracks
of yesterday’s hiccups,
perhaps it is beneath
unmoving clouds
that the crystalline gates
of russet-warm eyes
shall reveal
the sun within spoken satire,
for you’ve been a performer
wearing wounds and pain,
stitched with neon confetti ~
a magnetic sight for the
spectators who refuse
to feel the hymns
within your heartbeat.
They deserve not the voice
of your erased story,
for they are the seasonal errors,
waltzing with the whimsical wind,
carrying comical tales
on crimson cartwheels,
never in sync with the ache
that burns amidst lyrical laughter…
Tonight,
I taste the liquefied lament
and drown in the whistles
ricocheting across the carnival of angst,
where love rides the night
like a fleeting feather,
caught in the bleeding friction
of a chaotic carousel ~
confusing hurt with harmony,
masking melancholy with music,
parading the forsaken,
flaunting skills of acrobatics,
consumed in ruling as the curer
who calms the cyclones.
But if only they knew
the weeping of a harlequin,
the diamond tears of a clown,
perhaps then their compassion
would thaw the ice claws
on your regal crown,
allowing you to rest your head
upon cotton candy pillows,
shaped in starry ribbons,
as tender tunes of twilight
become the lullaby
that soothes the heavy horizon,
eager to suffocate the dreamer
who gives gracefully ~
walking on hellfire,
listening to lies,
no longer broken nor scarred,
humble and loyal,
as tomorrow comes,
tomorrow goes,
but the cloud remains
the same,
n u m b
and
h o l l ow ...
Copyright © Ink Empress | Year Posted 2025
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