The Winter Will Ask What We Did All Summer




To the fair? Do you truly dare?

Happiness you pay for

Nor the devil can remain in peace

…or so you’ll see

Gaunt faces, hollow smiles

Something old stirs in the veins of I

Fair folk songs filter through scorched

Midsomer nights, igniting the tarot

Fates old, withered soul once more bright

Guiding the unsuspecting

Along pathways

Illuminated by filament lights

Breathing new life into trapped vintage

Of days gone by, the Barker calls high

You’ll see more than you ever dreamed

Earth tone swags billow upon the breeze

Alongside cheers and cries

Puppeteer pulls

You in by his strings

Only the soothsayer sees what becomes of those

Who bend to his will…

Trust in the tower and its warnings of evil

Daunting yet alluring are the shadows of the big top

Ringmaster roars

Haunting, are the carousels calls

Feeding on passing souls

A lonely life

Full, if only for a few nights

No more pain

Until the faire comes again

Only next time…as the saying goes

You’ll wish you had run away

 

2022 © Melanie Whitlock. All Rights Reserved.


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