Clown

Here, as we presently live the truth of the clown, suffering in silence as frivolous laughs bounce around. Constantly wanting those answers never found, crying our hearts out, as pain just resounds. Do we not hear all these cries now abound? Did we discard empathy, as our voices were drowned . . . Out by the noises, the voices and choices, now creating powerful darkened shrouds . . . Here, tragically, we all now endure the truth of the clown. There at our doorstep . . . Wait. Is that mental death calmly sitting down? Challenging our efforts, all while knowing we've lost much ground. Darkened insider information, giving it an edge over our once vibratory strength sounds. Light not emitting only dim shadows of corruption, seeping into our everyday nouns. Many speaking into existence doom and gloom as our new verbal confounds. Can you hear me at all now? Perhaps not, because I somehow have failed to astound. No longer seemingly funny, as the original facade slowly came down . . . That laughter now surrendered and that cheer has dropped its brow. Those shoulders have slumped and the sadness fills the new typical background. So, are you visually understanding the truth of the clown? Only then, will you truly understand these indicated sounds . . . As I reach out poetically and phonetically, via universal mental compounds . . . To explain that the pain is quite excrutiating and consequently, we nurture it somehow. For in blatent truth, we have all learned cohesively to medicate ourselves, as does the clown. Hiding our true selves away from the whole entire personified town. And yet, this time around, the pain quickly induces somewhat more powerful self destruction, although NEVER, out loud