The Cruel Parade

Staring at the reflection, cool glass spattered with shower drops,

The face of a cruel parade stared back.

Puffened cheeks and softened chin,

The distaste of engorging evident and proud,

Gluttony stands tall and accepts its win.

What story led us here? Hanzel asked the Girl in the Red Hood,

A shrug of a reply came from her young shoulders,

A cackle, not human, breezed easily passed her lips,

The sound of a cruel parade echoed deep.

But Hanzel gripped her hand afraid he would slip.

The deep glow of the sun rested calmly along the skin,

The colour of the cruel parade brightened nowhere.

A face, buried deep, shone bright through the eyes,

So dark and so pained they could be almost black,

Secret windows into a world the boy could only defy.

The yellow brick road swam ever farther,

Across a sea of green grass it grew and it grew,

Strange looking totems lined the walkway with contempt,

The trail of the cruel parade stretched onwards,

Broken, golden eggs lay splintered and unkempt.

Down deep a belly grew, its eye ever larger, always empty,

The home of the cruel parade lay scarred.

Deep stripes of maroon forever bore into skin,

Loose hairs scattered loosely not far from the trunk of their brothers,

Hiding from view all that stood below the centre of sin.

A beast in black helmet and a frog of all green,

Stood side by side with a boy with a wand and a girl with two wings,

Ghosts flew straight buy and no one would blink,

The performers of the cruel parade rehearsed.

And the realization struck as they fell into line – it only matters what I think.


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