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| Image courtesy of Victor Habbick FreeDigitalPhotos.net |
This poem comes from a series of poetry called the Troop of Thisisus, a series of vignettes from a travelling sideshow.
Song of Brother Silas
In the darkness you don't know me
This blissful blindness binds us
Here, you and I are the same
Human, with hearts, blood, and brain
In the darkness you can't know me
But you know yourself
The curtain rises and you start to see
The glowing light and grow enlightened
One by one revealed by flame
Wrinkled face, knobby hand, crooked frame
The curtain rises and now you see
But question what I am
Stand, stare, shriek, point, gasp and flee
Seeing this not so slightly unsightly scene
As you struggle to make sense and name
This knotted spectacle, twisted, lame
Stand, stay, shrink, point, grasp be free
But start to wonder why
We are all made in his image, I and thee
Mysterious, my story is (misery)
Reminding us of a God that permits pain
That's not so pretty, but scares and shames
We are all made in his image, I am thee
But what does it all mean
Voyeurs behold the terrible truth fully
Relies on you not to realize the real lies
To think your world is perfect and plain
We're all deformed, hairy, hairless, molded, maimed
Voyeurs behold the terrible truthfully
But remember hope
From the ceiling the curtain bleeds
Purifies ye poor of eyes
The nightmare's ending, memories remain
I won't miss you as I am reclaimed
From the ceiling the curtain bleeds
I am whole again
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