The Ugly Carnival

Where was this crowd when my children cried,

when we boiled grass,

when we prayed day and night for a rain of blessing,

faces upturned to catch the dreamed of drops on our tongues,

yet the sky remained empty,

and its silence was a rebuke.

Where was this crowd when the grey men prowled,

voracious,

and in not-so-secret,

through the brick forests,

hunched down,

wet lips and eyes shining,

waiting,

for the next wave of broken glass.

Where was this crowd who took my hair

as payment for a crust of bread,

and my black tears as balm for their blistered souls,

who watched when I fell off the cliff over and over,

never dying all the way,

carrying my smashed and broken pieces

in a bruised and battered backpack of skin,

as I made the climb once again…

Knowing,

dreading,

that pride was not the only thing fallen…

Where was this crowd?

Getting drunk on the poison being given away on corners,

seeking the solace of hand me down righteousness.

Where was anyone?

Where were you?

When I found that I was merely an old story,

a broken book,

whose deckled pages only fit together when slammed shut.

Where was…

anyone?

When this ugly carnival finally left town,

leaving the sky standing empty,

and only the scorched grass to remember…

 

©jayetomas2016

Advertisements

About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to The Ugly Carnival

  1. Dead Donovan says:

    The imagery in your poetry is captivating! I enjoyed the shadows at play in your carnival.
    ~PR

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s