The Fear of Clowns
A poem
clowns
with their painted faces
red noses, oversized shoes
they lurk in the shadows waiting to pounce
the fear grips me, tightens its hold
as i see them approach
their laughter echoing through the air
those wild wigs that hide their true selves
those manic grins that conceal
their sinister intent
i want to run, to hide
to escape their piercing gaze
but my feet are rooted to the ground
paralysed by dread
the clowns draw nearer
their antics no longer amusing
but a harbinger of impending doom
my heart races, my palms sweat
as i brace myself for the inevitable
for the fear of clowns
is a primal thing
a deep-seated unease
that refuses to be tamed
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