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Luscious Curtains
The luscious curtains fall
and the once giddy clown
adopts a slouch and frown.
He gently grabs a bright red rose
from the polished oak stage,
awaiting romantical spur
thus enhancing the day mood.
The truth is merely a brood
of desire and the face freezes,
wishing to weep, thinking,
"But a perfect wife indeed
would surely save my sad soul,"
dismal with the red paint
melting on his haunted face.
This is eerie, as clowns so
This is eerie, as clowns so often are. I applaud the poem's brevity, in which you have compressed the implication of a hughe backstory.
Starward-Led [in Chrismation, Januarius]