The world is a circus in the dead of night with bestial ways abounding
as men display their skills and talents
to an audience preferring the vile and dangerous feats in life’s parade.

The hypocrite and deceiver is the masked mocker, the clown who
manipulates and seduces the crowd for loud laughs and reverence, but strikes when one’s guard is down.

The broken and maimed form a continuous procession along the streets as on a carousel.
A people whose fate is for the gain of the owner of keys to their chains.

Fearful and oppressed nerves jitter as on a roller coaster,
Confused and worried minds dizzy in thought as on a merry go round.

Well suited masses are a shadow of their true selves, each a reflection of someone else.
The living dead, consumed with self are performers in the concert of life. As circus artists in camouflage they dance the jive of death to the tune of funeral criers and church bell chimes.

The world is a circus in crises in the dead of night, will it welcome broad day light and the appearance of the healer, a true giver of life?

©Deborah E.Nyamekye 18/09/2016

• Poetry
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