Paradise Circus Poem by Shane Joshua Thomas

I am bleeding out onto the
canvas of forlorn creation,
I have met the pulsing phases of
motion and anguish;
The futile pleasures mankind hinges on
and aches for.

You think you live in Paradise,
With your ephemeral frames of pleasure,
You don't feel quite so empty now
that your pockets are filled with gold;
When all things are vapour under the Sun,
When all meaning is lost without God.

Who knows if tomorrow will be renewed,
Or the plenitude of the earth revived,
If gnarled fingers weep as if cursed
when pressed against the piano;
If wounded gods struggle to utter to us
when they are hurting?

For what is there to gain from the loss
of love for oneself;
What is there to be gained out of sacrifice
if you are not sure?
There is no need for God
when you've figured out it all.

The resonance of suffering sinks,
Yet your expression is inconsolable,
All seeps into the feathered coze of night,
The plenitude of the earth is revived;
I have selflessly offered myself
as sacrifice for your wounds.

I know it pains you to be starved of love—
But you can curl up on my palm,
You stray away from my warmth,
Though I have never banished you;
It is the renaissance of your soul
and to walk alongside you that I yearn.

Oh well, the devil is insatiable,
But we like it when we're spinning in his grip,
All things are permitted for mankind
with the acquiescence of some selfish gain;
Who knows whether there are kingdoms obscured by clouds?
For we must forget what cannot be seen.

If I bleed, you have held me up to contempt,
I who have done no wrong,
Still you flay my skin unflinchingly,
You who put me here;
I am a curse on display for them all,
Here in the circus of the world.