The Clown

The Clown


Notice the clown with ready smile and lilting gait.
Raucus laughter, open arms mask your dreadful fate.
Deep within his blackened heart distorted by abuse
heinous thoughts transfigured by a comic ruse.

Focussing his hateful rage on unsuspecting few,
predatory gaze may have strayed to fix on you.
"What can you do?", you may ask in terror and dismay.
Say your prayers and your goodbyes. You'll not live past this day.

Not an easy thought to harbor, haunting every stride.
Such an easy target, fall may come before your pride.
Death can take so many forms and may be so grotesque,
perpetrated by a comic, somewhat like burlesque.

Better not to think upon ones ultimate demise,
much preferred, it occurs as unforewarned surprise.
Dying with his boots on was the cowboy's sole request.
Fate can rest on whimsy -- final outcome only guessed.

Ride we must that ghostly train lurching on the rails.
When or where we will not know, secured by coffin nails.
Heed the clown, he's smiling, the hour is getting late.
He's scheming and conniving your dreadful, tragic fate.