Burning Bridges

A broad-grinned clown,

Smiling,

But somehow unsmiling,

Its image in the murky grime

Of ancient glass

Distorted –

Its nose too long,

Its forehead an inch wide –

Like a shameful memory,

Waiting to be redeemed.

 

Perhaps it was

The feeble shaft of sunlight –

Or perhaps the ripple of cracks

Creeping out like reaching hands

One the glass –

That washed away those pink-tinged cheeks,

And hollowed out

Those large, wondering orbs

Gazing out.

 

She waited for those rumbling clouds

To drown her in the world’s tears,

(And that urgent knocking on the door);

She wanted to think

That the heavens will weep for her

When she shut her eyes,

That heavy smile now unbent,

Off to find her Utopian world.