Wand Of The Weeping Clown

Wand Of The Weeping Clown
© Surazeus
2026 08 12

Regret cannot stop how snowflakes descend 
on delicate wings of unspoken words, 
though death consumes old silence of our souls, 
so we transform our pain to dreams of truth 
confirming how we analyze each choice 
which redesigns tone of our social voice. 

No more shall we expend false energy 
to measure psychic mirror of the sea 
which frames how we perceive our social needs 
to share tales of our private suffering 
with tender words of mental reckoning 
contrived to manage how we choose our death. 

Thus I shall join grand convoy of the lost 
in journey on lone highway of the ghost 
who wanders somewhere we have never been 
to show the way beyond fake paradise 
as if we hunger for dramatic truths 
to reprogram our minds with innocence. 

If I pause outside window of my room, 
while arranging snake eggs in Book of Doom, 
I may glance through lace curtains of my heart 
to see the Fairy Queen in silk nightgown 
who offers me wand of the Weeping Clown 
so I decide to play cartographer. 

Another king is set to come and go 
in naked anguish of electric snow, 
so I sign with name of my inner child 
new executive orders which assert 
children must learn how to build house of bones 
so we can draw map of the changing world. 

When Jesus finds me lounging in the cave 
where shadows of things flicker on the wall, 
he appoints me to perform solemn role 
heading new-formed Department of the Soul, 
so I search for lost people of the world 
and give them identification cards. 

Now that each soul is legal to exist 
as hungry spirit in land of the free, 
we can return to the business at hand 
of building wagons with crystalized wheels 
so we can fly on wings of Icarus 
above ever-changing maze of dead gods. 

No longer disenfranchised by concern, 
expressed by mechanics and librarians, 
we follow Humble Prophet of the Cow 
who bears reforged wand of the Weeping Clown 
to open new residential account 
at the water business office of faith.