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Emelia Madelyn Poem
He glances ‘round the crowded room,
Where laughter sparks and joy resumes.
He plays along, a practiced mime—
Lifts his lips, but not in time.
For somewhere deep, his mind has flown,
His soul long gone, he stands alone.
What’s left behind, a hollow frame—
A shadowed man without a name.
And oh,
You cannot feign what isn’t true.
So smiles, like paint, began to skew—
A circus mask, a jester’s frown,
The silent tears of one worn down.
The clown remained, as days went by,
But joy, it wilted, left to die.
Behind the lens, a smile posed—
But all that gleamed was false, composed.
Where is the laughter? Where’s the cheer?
What once was light now disappears.
And all that’s left when curtains drown,
Are soft and salty tears of a clown.
He tried to hide the ache with grace,
But sorrow shimmered on his face.
And though he smiled, his eyes betrayed—
The hush where happiness once stayed.
Why, love—
It was the tears of a clown.
Copyright © emelia madelyn | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Emelia Madelyn Poem
I walked across the earth today,
A ballad seemed to trail my way.
I think the sirens called to me—
Into their ship beneath the sea.
But what had scared me wasn’t beasts,
Or skies that dulled to stormy greys,
Nor was it how the ballad screamed—
But that I wasn’t scared. Not fazed.
I’ve been so many kinds of soul,
But never human. Never whole.
I crossed a bridge that swayed and cracked,
But that’s where I would find you back—
At the world’s end.
Where all fades black.
What scared me was not sky or shore,
But that I never knew much more.
Was there a truth I couldn’t see?
Was a black hole waiting for me?
Was this the end, or something blessed?
Are we in heaven—
If it exists?
The sea was made of all my tears.
But what had made me cry weren’t fears—
Not monsters,
Not the song that tore,
But knowing I was here—no more.
The last on Earth.
Or maybe not.
Maybe it was a dream I’d caught—
One I’ll never wake up from.
Or maybe this was heaven…
If such a place could come.
Are you real?
Or are you just a name I follow?
A shadow I can’t reach?
Or death?
Death is waiting.
But slow, it nears.
I’ll see you there
In a hundred years—
Upon my bed
When time runs dry,
And I can finally
Close my eyes.
Copyright © emelia madelyn | Year Posted 2025
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