“Puddles”

My poems are darker than me.

Sometimes it’s imperfection,

inexperience.

But sometimes it’s because

the world is sad.

 

There’s a story of a singing clown

who doesn’t speak,

traversing this world with

only a lantern and a briefcase,

spreading sadness and beauty.

 

Like his name, his life

is a gathering of broken glimpses,

interrupted reflections

pooling randomly on the ground

after the downpour.

 

I like that

he makes no attempt

to join the dots or

paint a smile

on his lined face.

 

That he makes no effort

to assure others, simply

finding his own song of sadness,

making it beautiful,

then leaving the stage

 

with only a box of tissues

left behind to remind us

to embrace sad beauty.

That muddy puddles

are part of our song, too.

 

http://grantland.com/features/puddles-the-clown-royals-searching/

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