By Gene Culbertson
In life I’ve gone
The way of praise,
Of warm applause and cheering crowds who know me not
But seek my smiling mask
To please them, fill them, entertain.
A clown I am upon this stage
They laugh and clap to see my foolery performed.
I juggle balls and prat and fall
I am the foolest fool of all.
Or is there deep within this clown
Something there, deeper down
In depths so deep I cannot see.
Yes, there, a light so small, so weak
What then? Is that a part of me?
A glimpse – brief and dim but something real
Before my eyes – no now it’s gone
Elusive, passing, misty – something grey.
There, again, I see it clear
A candle’s flame
Of swirling smoky silver dust
A brightening light
A parting cloud
Something piercing through the night.
Ah there, I see, now face to face
The under-layers of God’s grace.
On solid ground
I touch my feet
Upon the ultimate of me.
But wait! The crowds! I hear their noise.
They stamp their feet and shout,
Where is their boy who struts and stumbles
Flops and fumes and makes them feel
That they are just a little bit above
This sad buffoon?
So I must go and leave this bit of solid ground.
My audience awaits!
I am a clown.
