All praise to the god of harlequins and fools
The god to whom chaste clowns kneel to.
Through fickle fire and downcast sequins,
The clown God frolics while frantic flocks seek him.
Seeking through ruin pain and despair,
Their cartwheels lie, their laughter; an air.
Providence and pain produce divine works of art,
And true men mourn while his minions take part.
But the clown god dances on through the circus,
His motley flock bellowing with self-righteous purpose.
They follow their god as chaotic companions,
Hell-bent and laughing with pious pretensions.
While dancing and spinning around in chance,
The fools skip to the center by happenstance,
And their eyes are drawn to a sanguine sight.
A bloodied and broken body hung from the heights.
At this joke the clown god finds no humor.
His gay dancing becomes hate-filled candor.
The painted smiles and high-handed hues
Turn to frowns, trite teals and blues.
For this man declares the clown god foolish
Razed his work and turned it to rubbish.
No piqued praise to the broken man hanging.
His treacherous touch would take all our laughing.
So, give all praise to the clown god of fools.
His rabid followers enamoured by a tragic ruse.
While a broken body hangs above the motley masses
Crying for the careless clowns who threw off His calling.