Three Ringed

Three Ringed

I Stand alone in
The center ring.

Alone?
Alone?
Alone?
No, I am not
Standing alone.

I have company.

In a cage are three demons.
Worse, they call me their master.

I feel the rough, callous being of a whip
In my hand
“MASTER”
But I cannot tell
Verb or Noun

I think, I worry, the circus grows darker,
But the lights are still on.

Master is their song,
But I am still lost in translation

I think, I worry, the circus grows darker
But the lights are still on.
The grip of strong firm hands
Stuns me, as the hands grasp at me
Master is their song,
But I am lost in translation still
The circus is solemn, and dark, and grave
But the lights are still on.

But then, things with feathers fly about
The circus lights go out, but the darkness is lifting.

White feathered things fly about
Crushing the circus lights with their powerful wings
The graveness recedes.

I feel my handAll is light.
The demons are gone.
MASTER I cry

I know what I mean.