The Clown
by Carl Josehart

Looking out from behind a grease-paint smile
Are eyes too world weary to weep and too cynical to grin
So joyfully he plays at living his life
Always pleasing the crowd – always feeling the price

Hidden behind a façade of laughter
Are ears turned deaf for want of being whispered to
So playfully he talks to each and everyone
Telling jokes – bringing laughter to those he meets

Buried beneath his silly padded clothes
Is skin grown tough – screening all the feeling out
So whimsically he tumbles as falls
Hurting less when he feels nothing at all

Locked away inside a red button nose
Are nostrils still longing for the scent of sweet perfume
While he mimics inhaling the aroma of a paper bouquet
Produced as if by magic – then given away

Lying dormant within his mouth
Is a tongue fast asleep from the banality of his daily fare
His world is cotton candy and caramel corn – all sickly sweet
Never having tasted the richness of life’s flavors, he is not nourished when he eats