A/N: I wouldn't say a lot since it would kill the mystery, yet this is the outcome of a certain scene that had haunted me for days and weeks after getting to know about it. Yup, the poem's really long and free verse, so sorry for all you rhyming-nerds. I really can't carry on with rhyming for such a long piece to save my life. D:

Loads of thanks to Simon, a.k.a. Flamingo, a really great friend and an evil, evil troll, for bearing with my endless bugging and questions and drowning me with sneak peeks from his fanfic masterpiece; which inspired me for this 'little' poem and several other pieces of art. You're awesome, Mr. Flamingo! I seriously don't regret my extreme fangirling. :D And note to everyone else: you really should check it out!

Disclaimer: Percy Jackson and the Olympians and the Heroes of Olympus series belong to Rick Riordan; The Jackson Legacy and the related fiction belongs to Simon Layton. (I wish they belonged to me. D: XDDD) The poem co-belongs to me, because I say so! :D

Enjoy and review! o3o

~The Clown~

A single spotlight
A single clown
A cheery crowd
Drowning in mirth
As cords directed.
You laughed and pranced
Skipped and joked
They all loved you
Loved you for the amusement.
Grinning through that mask
You laughed with them
It was a cheerful scene,
Or so meant to be
But why did it feel so wrong?
The audience clapped and whistled
Begging for more. It was a great show.
The puppeteers conceded. They waved their rods.
Gave you the lines.
The marionette juggled .
Everyone laughed. Stamped feet on ground.
Spilled their drinks and choked in snorts.
You were a favorite.
Everything was perfect
The directors congratulated themselves.
It went on for hours.
Days. Weeks.
Months.
Years.
You were tired. You were stumbling in your steps.
You needed a rest.
You tried to plead for a break. A timeout.
But the crowd haven't had enough.
"More!" they cried. "Encore! Encore!"
But you were just human.
They adored their crazy clown
All theatre was alive.
But you were worn out.
The strings never yielded
Nor the playmakers.
You had to go on.
You owned the stage.
The mask kept grinning.
And the spotlight flashed bright.
You were exhausted.
One cord went up, and you waved to the crowds.
All ten moved, and you cartwheeled.
And jumped up again.
And rolled in back flips.
And spun in a clumsy pirouette.
Everyone jeered.
"En pointe!" one ordered.
The puppeteers obliged.
"Clumsy dragon!" another yelled.
And you flew around.
"Fire jugglers!" a man demanded.
"More cartwheels!" a woman declared.
The directors pulled a lever.
Fiery gold rings lit up the stage.
The cords dragged you into them.
The fire burnt through you, leaving no mark.
Everyone cheered and threw flowers.
They ignited.
"More! More!"
The mask loosened.
It hung from one ear, still in that frozen grin.
For the first time, I saw you.
Your face was beaded with sweat. There was no life.
A cord ignited and snapped. A hand fell to the side.
And hung there limp and comatose.
"MORE!" the crowd barked.
You stumbled in the ground.
They yelled. Threw empty cans.
"The show must go on," a director glared.
"Pull him up and switch the lasers on!"
The stage flooded in multicolor lights.
Music blared from every side.
The cords pulled you back into the rhythm.
Everyone danced along, laughing and catcalling.
Nobody saw the harassed pain.
Nobody saw the lifeless feign.
"Stop!" I cried.
I couldn't move.
A spell froze me in an invisible prison.
But I saw all.
"He's hurt! STOP IT!"
But no one heard.
Nor cared.
They were all engrossed in the show.
It was torture.
And you saw me, higher up on the steps.
A shadow of recognition flickered.
And hid under the agony.
You couldn't even speak.
Only the unforgiving cables held you upright.
"Please…" I screamed, "No more!"
I tried to reach out. I wanted you away.
Away from those cruel masters.
Away from that blind audience.
Away in safety where there was no pain.
You were my friend.
I tried to break the spell and push through the bounds
They wouldn't let go.
The crowds laughed around.
The directors grinned.
You were the poltergeist.
The clown.
The actor.
The puppet.
The slave.
"NO!" I wailed.
I fell down sobbing.
A gentle hand pulled me back.
"Save him!" I pleaded.
I couldn't leave you.
"You've seen enough," you said. "Come with me."
What sorcery was it?
On the stage and on the steps…
You on the stage looked mournfully as you pulled me away.
Away from the dungeon, from that cruel stage.
Your mask had finally come off.
"It was you..." I whispered.
"They're torturing you."
You didn't reply.
But you couldn't lie.
Your eyes told it all.
You held me quietly as I shivered in sobs,
Crying for you, your pain, your torment.
You wouldn't say a word.
Nor let me go,
Not for a second.
You took me away from that accursed place.
Kept me in your arms until I had no tears
Until all sobs had died.
Until I fell asleep in worn agony.
You never spoke.
You didn't complain.
Not even to me.
How could you keep it all inside?
Hide it all under that mask, for years without end?
How much pain did you drown in jokes?
Were all those smiles a hidden grimace?
Were all those laughs a cry for help?