THE PAINTED GRIEF

The laughter rings, a hollow sound, Across the painted, cheerful ground. A mask he wears, a painted smile, Hiding the tears for a little while. Beneath the greasepaint, shadows creep, Where buried sorrows lie so deep. A heart that aches, a spirit torn, A silent grief, since early morn. The spotlight shines, a cruel display, For joy he feigns, though hope's astray. He stumbles through the practiced dance, A fragile soul, caught in a trance. The crowd below, they cheer and clap, Oblivious to the silent trap. They see the jester, light and free, But not the pain he hides from thee. Each hurried bow, each clumsy fall, Conceals a memory that enthralls His weary mind, a haunting scene, Of what has been, and might have been. The music swells, a vibrant beat, Contrasting with his inner defeat. He juggles tears he cannot shed, A living ghost among the dead. So watch him close, as colors blend, And see the story without end. The tears of a clown, a bitter rain, Washing away the joy and gain.