Love is an impressive stairway/ book title
Painting of a Clown
Time and time again I have tried to nourish my soul with love and still my heart swells without a beat and emptiness, with every step I take my feet sink deeper, deeper and deeper until I cannot crawl are climb out of the mud that I sink into. There are no blue skies are white clouds, a canvass of darkness painting my picture of sadness a lonely clown attending his crowd of alone. Painted teardrops hold my wet tears, painted smiles hides my frown and I wear a dented top hat revealing the broken gentleman. My flowers have no scent, clock no hands, and shoes no strings but still I trip over my own feet, hoping to fall hard and make my heart beat once again. My circus tent is tainted and sagging from hopelessness as I bow to emptiness. I’m a lost clown entertaining my transparent crowd loneliness and sadness with one routine; Painting of a clown.