Poetry | In the Harlequin’s Touch


In the Harlequin’s Touch – Reflections of the Shadowdancer

In the Harlequin’s Touch

I feel the cool
Harlequin touch.
What do I do?
When the joke’s
on the fool?

Multiple colors strike
the mirror in the
darkest night
of a soul lit by the star
of solitude.

Tears of joy
and of sorrow mix
upon this toy
within my hands
so fragile
and glass.

I am the harlequin
and the bells ring on
as the white paint
drips in a rain of salty bitter
but still they are sweet
to some tongue.

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