The Lonely Tears Of A Clown Poem by Mary Champion

Consider this circus clown with his neck ruffle -
the one that we license to tear up the rule book-
who treads the border between comedy and insanity -
projecting a light-hearted disregard for propriety,
pretending to a carefree carelessness,
when so much pain is imprinted on his heart.
What does this entail for his mental equilibrium?
From what disturbing darkness does his manic humour stem?
Unlikely that we will ever know, for,
in the time-honoured way of circus clowns,
who portray the professional buffoon,
he will contrive to shed his tears alone.
When the show is done, and the crowds dispersed,
he will climb out of his clown façade,
and - unrecognised by the remnants of his audience,
slip away to take solace in the leafy peace
of a nearby woodland. Breathing in the calming air,
held in the gentle embrace of the trees,
he prepares for the next performance.