Whilst staring into fractured glass,
He paints his face - a bone white mask
Fills in the lines that he created
With faces pulled while he was painted
A smile that never reached his eyes
Another - that of feigned surprise
Puckered lines around his lips
But not true love just a false kiss
And once his mask is complete
He stands upon once nimble feet
Dons his hat, puts on his nose
Pretends that he has twinkle toes
Then waits to hear the curtain call
“Ladies, gentlemen, one and all,”
And for his moment to arrive
So once again, he feels alive
Love it. Even smokey Robinson wrote of ' the tears of a clown ' and dare I say your poem is beautifully poetic
Old age and the masks we wear. Very good
Beautifully painted. There's something very poetic about the sadness of clowns!