A clown standing,
a clown wearing around his waist the Earth,
an empty glass,
a broken heart,
a wave of the hand,
a dismissive art,
a heartbroken face.
A mime artist.
A tragedy that you cannot quite place,
until he pulls his problems as if from out of his heart,
the problems of the world pulled out in sufferance and as a piece of art.
And as he cries the tears of a clown,
he sits down and the clown slumps upon a chair with the world watching,
a clown with all the problems of the world upon his shoulders,
the clown the symbol of humanity,
and with the symbols of the problems of the world now held in his hands,
disease, racism, rape,
Greed, jealousy, poverty.
war and death,
and yes, as he does, a crowd watches,
and celebrates and points and waves and jeers,
and laughs and cries tears of joy,
and no one helps,
no one helps but they pickpocket him and they plunder his wealth,
and everyone parties and enjoys themselves,
whilst the clown suffers emotionally and physically,
and suffers in agony and in pain,
and suffers for his mental health.