He paints his face and becomes the clown
Checks the mirror for his furtive frown
Got it all hidden inside
Watches the people having fun
He wants to run
Get away
To that day
When the children played
So long ago
Time goes by
But the screams still cry
He paints his face and becomes the clown
Checks the mirror for his furtive frown
Got it all hidden inside
Watches the people having fun
As he spins the gun
More laughter as he drops with a bang
Huge applause they begin to stand
Then no sound
Suddenly the laughter turns to frowns
So sad
The death of a clown..
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Author:
Paul Bell (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 17th, 2026 05:26
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments2
good write friend, much enjoyed
Being a clown is great fun. The court jester has great freedom. I used to dress as a clown for kid parties and Halloween and always painted a frown on my face. It gave more freedom than a smile that seemed forced and required one to always act happy even when not. This poem speaks of hidden feelings behind the mask and the very act of shooting oneself is not seen as tragic until the end. Nicely done my friend with a deep message
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