Circus 🎪
Lines, lines and lines,
Of clowns,
On chairs,
And I'm just waiting
For the show to start,
In five years when the clowns,
Slide in their black and white tuxes,
Giving life to the circus,
They do not run—
The master himself,
Is a mime,
Stuck behind invisible bars,
He pulls, asking for freedom,
But they think,
He's just leading the choir,
No one noticed the dissonance,
Ever since it became the norm—
And clowning became the standard,
Everyone put on their red noses,
Their curly-haired red wigs,
Red smiles, from cheek to cheek, they painted,
And jumped through fire hoops,
Embracing the circus,
In their black and white tuxes,
And red butterfly bowtie.
© K_K_writes
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