Clown's Lament

When I was a child
The world did whisper:
You are just not fit to live -
Better yet that you should give
Your throat a good slash,
Your head a good smash,
And bid the clowns good-bye.
 
And I listened to it all,
Making mask and silken cloak,
Lined with mocking childish jokes,
For the eternal Devil’s Ball.
 
Within the clouds of acrid smoke
In that red-veined marble hall,
The mouths of other children spoke,
Whose heads hung all along the wall.
 
They laughed and jeered
And howled and cheered
To see me cloaked so like a fool.
Upon my head they spat and drooled!
 
And in the years since leaving school,
Under sway of fevered dream,
My heart’s desire has been to lure
Cruel children into hell’s ravine.
 
I lead them into little boats,
With clownish acts and silly jokes,
And send them gently down the stream,
With self-effacing sad routine.
 
And in their rush to mock and gloat,
The children strain their leaking boats.
They wail and flail in hell’s ravine,
Sinking deep and never seen.
 
Alone now in my dressing room,
I feel the sad impending doom
That condemned prisoners do fear.
My place in hell I will take soon,
Though death itself will feel a boon,
I cry at each child’s laugh I hear.