A Tragic Comedy

I march to the beat.
Punchlines like armour, laughter like boots upon my feet.
When medals polished to a sheen,
A graphic example of well used tactics to keep the hurt brief.
I go into battle with only these.
A barrage of deflections, no exit wounds to clean.
No mess, no outward sign to mean that any thing has struck me.
I am no comedian and my feelings are no comedy.
This is not a practice I can see lasting.

So why can't I stop laughing.

Reviews

[sette]

because only in times of laughing or pretending to laugh that we can put the mask on that everything is alright.

[UnderTheDeadPoetTree]

I think that's often the case, thanks for the review:)

[sette]

you are welcome