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Whispers About Dying Clowns

Many of my hubs originate from my teenage years and those past twenty. Some pieces were funny. Some were sad,.Some were down right scary.

The Master.

The Master.

Old clowns master life of panic and dark-veiled pain.

Old clowns walk away from tears shed and lifeless death.

Old clowns walk invisible steps safe and sure.

Old clowns enter blurred doors smoky, loud, and pure.

Old clowns didn’t plan to walk this walk.

Old clowns didn’t beg to sing, laugh or talk.

Old clowns run the risk of never being paid.

Old clowns forget the misery that is laid.

Old clowns rise each sunrise, giving hearts their all.

Old clowns hear whispers through paper-thin walls.

Old clowns live and die a measured time each waking day.

Old clowns exist moment to moment seldom knowing the way.

Old clowns with lips tight and closed.

Old clowns swallow their vows supposed.

Old clowns carve a new pathway from garden green.

Old clowns gather roses, daisies, and tulips seen.

Old clowns love the times of memories here and been.

Old clowns know about life, death, enclosed in candle’s flame.

Old clowns work, sweat, never feeling their toiling fame.

Old clowns seldom laugh, as their laughing is but paint.

Old clowns always say “yes,” never to “can’t.”

Old clowns have a language of their own.

Old clowns loving friends from flesh through bone.

Old clowns do not stay young forever.

Old clowns savor the laughter an endeavor.

Old clowns’ steps are hidden in a darkened rain.

Old clowns have mastered smiles, and lied about pain.

Old clowns are able to touch an eternity of souls.

Old clowns read with silence in soiled olden scrolls.

Old clowns are born, live, leaving a gap never stilled.

Old clowns hold heaven in place, living fulfilled.

May 31, 2020______________________________________

Talking shop.

Talking shop.

© 2020 Kenneth Avery

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