Carnival

dimly light and shrouded in shadows,
you could only see the outlines —
vague and blurred —
of the thrill rides.
but you could hear them —
the horrifying screams of
patrons who feared for their lives.

along the midway, carnies called out,
trying to get some sucker’s attention
to come play a game of chance
(“two games for a dollar,” they cried),
as a dilapidated old calliope
blared “the funeral march” for all to hear.

with false smiles plastered on
their grotesque lips and terror
shining in their small, misshapen eyes,
the denizens of freak alley
could do nothing but
stare out at you in pity.

and those souls —
those poor souls lost in the house of mirrors —
were gone…
lost for all of eternity
at this monstrosity,
this carnival of lost souls.