Modes in Passing

Those carnival lives...

 

Carny

 

The barker, stands upon the platform blind to the shill.

Who knows the drill, and shivers through nerves, of the patsy played...

Upon a hammering heart, holding on to a fools hope.

Plundered.

The jester, laughs madly sad. As he is not a clown, with a painted on frown

and engaged, pitiful loneliness, pangs.

An anguished alliance, with the hollow grip. A breathless, empty translation...

Anticipation.

Simmering solace seethes, some backdrop pleasured, or maybe...

Promised.

The spectres malice, reminds of the seeking rapture and, only the void...

Remains.

It cannot reflect the intellect between the turn, and left forlorn...

To wonder, whimsically stranded.

In that dream...

that can never be.

Treasured.

It slips away...

 

 

Oh My... I've been had!

 

 

Reviews

[dead man talking]

loikes yea poem,i like the tv show Carnivale,nice pictures too