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Everyone laughs at a clown

by Anne Howe


...a journey behind the eyes of a clown


Through the 'glass doors'
I enter
The rhythm is quick
As one thought clashes with another.

This 'happy' person is frightened
Afraid of what is out there
a part is missing
-the confidence 'to be'
There is an absence of knowledge of the person
The real ''I am'.

I travel further,
Between thoughts that resonate.

There are voices
Two voices - upstairs somewhere
But I can't find the room
They are always 'upstairs'.

There is clutter
As disorganized thoughts are born, to wander.

Unfinished pictures lie in limbo
Books of music line the walls
Instruments gather dust

Undeveloped talents
Brought to confinement but unnurtured
Are suspended in a metaphoric youthful mass of brave attempts
And concerted efforts.

I then encounter anger
only occasionally allowed to reign.
Finally, through these eyes i behold love
A happy, outward stream of giving love
that few would know.

The show over... the girl removed her clown outfit
And packed it into a suitcase
Quickly turning and on her way
she claimed anonymity in the busy crowd.



10/21/2001

Posted on 10/21/2001
Copyright © 2024 Anne Howe

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