Clowns Crying

Bald headed children
with beaming faces
applaud the clowns.
In a world of pain
spiked by nausea,
their silly antics
bring color to lives of gray.

Chubby Prednisone cheeks
frame smiles below
dark-ringed, hollow eyes.
Life force ebbs and flows
in flux with the poisons
coursing through their veins.

It's a game of life --
so harsh, that the loser wins,
and the winner gets to go home.
When the clowns arrive,
minds are swayed
from death to life,
from pain to smiles, and
eyes are bright again.

Some days are better,
some are worse --
faces reflect the score.
An undercurrent of fear
dissipates --
if just for a moment --
when the clowns arrive.

The clowns are doctors,
the doctors, human --
they are not immune to grief.
Who will dry the tears
when you see the clowns
crying?

A killer stalks the children!
Insidious and vile,
it slips in beneath our guard,
striking hard, relentlessly,
despite our futile blows.

Parker was two years old,
and blind,
but he fought so very hard.
His parents paced unceasingly,
soothing with their voices.
He didn't understand the pain,
but he understood the love.
On the day that Parker died,
I saw the clowns crying.

Dallas D'Angelo-Gary 00