The Clown
Keeping the tone that shed light on fear
She waits with furious fists aimed and steady
I keep her in mind lest she get too far behind
The rope of despair or the bilge of traitors
The story ends where the road begins
Playing with sonnets sitting in a tree
I shall sharpen my eye as I bend a knee
And become tranquil in the dusk
She can speak of you even as she thinks
Of the perfidy you caused to awaken
The minds splaying their wares
Sunny and free as daisies with rust
Leave the brook and let darkness near
As you ache for the morning bliss
Scatter the frost on the turtle
And bend your breath till it breaks
Underneath the ferns, you will hide fraud
Lingering and longing for unearned praise–
Who will suspect that you sang fire into being
With your swagger and your sway?
As each light turns its magic upon the wind
Purple pride will gather with the dew
Frost and fog will play everywhere upon
The resounding lies you repeat and repeat
Day light will not turn you into the clown
Romping in terror but night time will allow
Your audience to hear the honking
And the noise seeping from your throat
Linda's Literary Home 
Good faith questions and comments welcome!