and pick up today’s clock shards,
stomped to pieces by the troll of your fears;
you’re hangover still—drunk by a bucketful of wishes
and a fistful of lofty ideals
but you tread on the borderline of dreamscapes anyway
and attempt to hold the pain in its place, to stay,
like a coffee stain that won't go away.
The highwire act of your life is up;
love polygons bounced as you toe across
the nylon string, one that is as fragile as your optimism.
The circus lights blink at you
like mechanical stars, and their brightness seem to mock
the gaping hellhole in your heart.
Flashes of images when you fell:
you hugging a pillow that is not him,
the nighttime silence lulling you to slumber,
and dollops of sunshine trickling down the side of a teacup
from yesterday’s breakfast.
You fell hard,
but it didn’t hurt.
AN: In the course of my short writing stint as the literary editor of our school organ, I’ve always wanted to choose the topic “circus” to be the theme of the lit page or even the literary folio. For some reason it never happened (the “hindrances” are a long story so let’s don’t even go there). Anyway, here’s a poem about love, pain, dreams, and the circus, particularly the tightrope walking. Will give a kiss to anyone who will know what the circus stands for in this poem. Haha.:p
By the way, I haven’t blogged—and Tumbl’d and FB’d and GoodReads’d (haha)—because our laptop still needs some repairing, along with my DSLR. This is all I could type while renting in a compshop haha. I’ve written a short story and five blog entries in freaking longhand (can’t blame a bum LOL). XD Prolly will put them all up this weekend. Toodles!