How would you run from what's inside?
The broken swings,
And the abandoned dolls,
The carousel turns with the flickering lights,
The horses moving up and down,
To the macabre music,
dances the smiling clown, till the morrow.
How would you run from what's inside?
Your own darkness,
a comforting blanket.
The songs of defeat and pain,
Turn into the bugle announcing
The vanquishing of your sorrow's rain.
The broken swings,
And the abandoned dolls,
The carousel turns with the flickering lights,
The horses moving up and down,
To the macabre music,
dances the smiling clown, till the morrow.
How would you run from what's inside?
Your own darkness,
a comforting blanket.
The songs of defeat and pain,
Turn into the bugle announcing
The vanquishing of your sorrow's rain.
That darkness inside, a beast carried inside never to be escaped from.. I know Chimeras.
ReplyDeleteThe first stanza took me back to childhood, the second to that next stage of life - when you stop fleeing what's inside and turn to meet it. I love the bugle announcing the vanquishing of sorrow.
ReplyDeleteBeautifully haunting..!
ReplyDeleteHow? And Why? If they can be turned into comforting blankets--and be past realities that can no longer harm/haunt. Let the Devil's Carnival be; your trumpet has a brighter sound!
ReplyDelete