narrative poem (Remove filter)
That Which Autumn Leaves
That Which Autumn Leaves
The clowns were funny in the ring,
as they joked and tumbled and fell -
but in the camp, after the show,
they made our young lives hell.
Still in their masks of garish paint
and drunk on Vodka shots,
they cut and bruised and beat us,
hatching cruel, twisted plots.
I never saw the demons
lurking safe behind the masks
...
Tuesday 14th May 2013 11:50 am
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