Dance in big red boots

I wake up in the midst of a weary night,

Startled for reasons unknown.

The wretched cold winter wind blazing away to glory,

beating against a hapless window

of my hazy room.

I run up to put the window off its misery

And my pair of sleepy eyes catches

a glimpse of a strange weathered figure

walking with feet so heavy,

but not the faintest whisper of footsteps.

His shadow, humongous

under the silver moonlight.

He stops in his path and…

Nothing…

He just stands there, with a ghastly

smile on a painted face.

A single expression drawn on

that skin never revealed.

Within, a million emotions

etched on his heart’s headstone.

Feelings, curbed for ages unknown,

Forced to take refuge in his frozen blood.

His soul lamenting under

the widespread oak that drowns

him in eternal darkness.

All he can hear are dirges,

sang years ago;

When he lost his reason to

shimmer under the beaming spotlight.

He lay motionless,

Fighting demons in his head.

An asylum harboring the

the wrath that shuddered Hades;

Conflicting worlds colliding,

in a restrained pool of sophism,

tearing up the soul within.

A bottle of Vodka still lodged in his head.

A bad medicine, that hosts a requiem,

playing minstrel in the gallery of fears.

A dawdling figure resisting

a place in the books of history.

Forgotten by blossoming generations.

Through the surrendering light

of the moon that seeps through

the dense tattered blue leaves;

An elegant face, painted white,

with a red tacky smile, a waived gaze,

Dilated pupils, silently illuminated.

A face so familiar, no illusion to lose;

And before I scratch my head to bethink,

I recognize him!

The Clown of Neverland.