It's long, and just this once to hell with an lj-cut. I do it every other time. This time I don't feel like it. Any and all critiques are much appreciated.
Pierrot's First Birthday
This day, Pierrot’s birthday, a celebration took place
And all the lands gathered around to watch him dance
For he was one year older, one year more beautiful
And none the wiser, save a day or two, here or there.
The gala was quite a feast for the eyes, the twisted in us all.
Pierrot gazed through the crowd, collected their focus
(these, our minds, trapped like as many butterflies in his jar)
and recanted his tale of one life, one love, both lost, one regained.
He pulled up on his wooden mask to reveal white paint beneath.
Staying in character, I assumed, for that is what Pierrot is and was
Above all else: a character.
“Imagine! If you will, my friends, my foes alike,
The story I weave will leave nary a dry eyelid, a broken tissue!
Reach for one now, I promise, you won’t find the time
When I’m through!”
He paused, glared, and snorted. A short rustling ensued.
We were prepared. Pierrot laughed, he cackled, “Purity!
Preparations are complete. So begins the tale of My Love!”
Now, I could tell you this tale, this woe, this… this
Loss of innocence, a story of pain that gripped his only glory
And tore her so premature and beautifully from his painted palm.
But I know only Pierrot could and should.
After the completion of his only catch in a sea of lures
We found ourselves, as a group, sobbing, blubbering!
A sea of whales amidst the wheat!
“Now, now, dears.” Pierrot wiped at the corner of his lips,
Wiping away a tear or a crumb, we were never sure.
“It gets better, I supposed.” Sigh. “There is the tale of a lost life
(‘the adventure of such’ he added in wink)
And the gathering of love, of unbridled merriment!”
(Alas, another wink was here, to grasp the ladies by the teat).
“But first! What a cake. To dine!”
A tray wheeled out a magnificent feast, pure elegance
So formed, like a castle indwelt by the finest of sugary lust.
Candles placed around the sides numbered higher than a simple mind
Such as my own
Could count. We tried, and failed, to try again. And again.
“Please!” Pierrot said aloud. “To ruin my concentration
And rob me of my wish for the year
Would truly be a crime of the ages!”
Laugher seemed to rob Pierrot of his smile, so he lowered again his mask
Bent forward, with a mighty breath, we head his solitary wish,
His craving for a year, the one worth wasting a candle on.
“Bring me my love, finish my story.”
Releasing his breath, the flames disappeared in a row. Silently.
One woman giggled, then burst into applause. “Ah, but you missed!”
Her taunting laughter made the crowd bristle.
“Ah, my lady, I have missed nothing.” Pierrot spun the cake around,
Searching for the offending lamp.
“See? Nothing.” The lone candle caught the bottom of the mask,
And moist though the summer air was
Pierrot’s wooden façade was no match for such a force of God.
As quickly as it started, His fire was out, and Pierrot lie on the ground.
Staring towards to sky, he cursed the sun.
“Such a burning tome. Bring me back to her, will you,
With your brethren?” His one last breath, his one love.
Yet which did he lose and which reclaim?
Cross posted everywhere.