Chess on a sideboard
held no challenge at all
compared to the strategic effort
of managing the unmanageable
I have a rage bottled up inside
it threatens to swallow me up
ignite the fires and pull the trigger
and laugh while the world burns
I have a comic in me
a clown with no equal
a laugh on his lips
and never the truth
I have a sadness just there
a quiet vulnerability
many are attracted unil they get close
the pain is unbearable when close
like being present at a cruxifiction
where the victim won't die
I hang and suffer and they cry
I was forty before I let them get close enough to touch
to pry out the nails and release my burdens
I was ashamed and embarassed for them to see me thusly
but alas, forty years was too long to wait hanging there.
Today I know the wounds do heal
I know the rage is just there..
I feel the sadness waiting for me to falter..
I tiptoe on the tops of the picket fence
with the clown makeup in my pocket
still performing, just not costumed as much,
with the rage just there..
like a dog waiting to bite,
and depression my ever constant companion..
studying my face for yet another opportunity
I walk hand in hand today
the angry one I let comfort the wounded child
the relentless clown is forever stealing the show
yet somehow we all get a turn to speak....
we are just there...right below the skin