I once saw an old clown,
Weeping his facepaint away,
Knelt beside a lonely stream,
He sent his regrets on the current,
Letting them go as little paper boats,
Like a sad armada,
Soon to be burned,
Soon to be forgotten,

Every failure and chink in his ego,
Taken away on the embracing waters,
Blazing trails past eroded rock fern and pine,
He did realise as he finally stood up,
It was important that he relinquished them,
That he sent them away,
The stream was of his own making,
A product of his tears.

Comments
  1. Brilliant. Shedding the old history is not easy.

  2. shauna says:

    Very well done. I liked the image you shared on Instagram—it looked peaceful, and I get the same sense from this poem’s ending.

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