Tears Of A Clown Poem by Mark Richardson

He lived the theatre motto, the show it must go on
But hid behind the made-up face, a life so very wrong
His uniform a badge, of his work that made him proud
All were brightly coloured, matched his booming voice so loud

A quiet man so meek and mild, was bullied all through school
Colin found the one way out; he played the old class fool
The only way to stop these names, was joining in their games
Just laughed along ignored the pain, and tried to mask his shame

So leaving school a broken man, forever feeling down
He did what came so naturally, and went to play the clown
Straight away he was a hit, they came from miles around
The circus was a sell-out, joking genius had been found

Yes every night Colin dressed, and all would chant his name
His clowning tricks and clowning games, was bringing him this fame
In curly wig and baggy pants, he felt at total ease
Big red nose and comedy feet, his job was just to please

But come the end of Showtime, when everyone goes home
The pain returns to torture him, he suffers all alone
The tears they flow they burn and etch, the make-up hides a frown
So no one knows, as no one sees, the tears of a clown