Carnival

Coming of age is a carnival
in a watershed plain strewn with confetti.
The atmosphere is sick with potential,
riotous colors promising upending fun.

You’re there with your friends on a caper,
though you lose some along the way in
the hall of mirrors where your body outpaces
your mind’s ability to recognise that foreign
seer who questions your unquestioned beliefs and
robs you of your laughter in the freak show.

With spotlights afiring, you sense the scrutiny of
an unseen audience whilst the ringmaster distorts
through the crack of a whip into a despot who
punctures your dreams as the tarpaulin limps in and
the ferris wheel continues to spin, you break out —
running into the wheat gold plains.

The carnival becomes a faded film, reeling in your mind’s eye.

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