Remembering Three-Ring Madness


Principals says we shouldn't,
but many have ignored their inner monitor.
Countless watched with gleam,
some wrinkling their brow,
hordes clapping their hands,
A few covering their eyes,
Ears,
Conscience.

How sufferable must it have been,
this barrenness of elephant chi,
void of compassion's moisture,
their heart's need imprisoned.

Time's cultivation
rendering Soul's irrigation,
so natural at times,
yet so empty of tears.

Many once peered down from seats on high,
cheering three rings of crippled principle,
compliant heads,
languid eyes of heritage lost,
intelligence quashed,
spirits broken,
left with but
swaying heads and trunks,
like a metronome winding down,
slowly reminding all
Time eventually stops.
Some hearts refused to pump,
tears were rendered dry
before they reached sad eyes.

Now…

Bull hooks no longer matter,
where iron talons
once the only feeling
these miraculous creatures once knew
understood,
and habitualized.

Will new animal brutality give ticket holders
their new need to hail Caesar
pushing profits into vacuous prevailing,
complicit numbness.

How frightening…

The thought of many enjoining
yesterday’s circus madness
to fill the twisted global mind set
of tomorrow.