Up Pops a Jester

A clown sadly crying laughter, Prying it from grimaces that fail to smile. Upside down grins dying on a joker's face, Lost in a rain of tears his eyes can't see. This creature who doesn't recognize wilderness, A place from which he was born, Where that scorn of nothing happy raised him, Always hating those sipping on silver spoons. Still they soothe him with lies that burn, A painful salve which does not cure, Just spreading many scars, To parts they never look upon. Only sneaking on knees to humorless keyholes, Peeking gleefully at the sorrow they see, Badges of cowardice bleeding before heaven's door, While heroes of joy pass through gates always open. Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved "A poem to me is the essence of any thought, Being built from its foundation into tower scraping sky. It can fly like no other bird to places never seen, Even spaceships can only dream of taking its place." © 2014 Robert William Gruhn