Crooked Carousel

Gray, gray, all is gray.
No color meets my eye.
Faded mirth paints the pallet.
When did the laughter die?
Chill breezes bite and wail,
As wafting through the hollow air
Reveal remains and skeletons
Of once the merry fair.

Bare, bare, all is bare.
Bare, the paths and stalls.
Bare, the walkways, bare the benches,
Bare, the once befashioned walls.
Haunting, gaping, greedy jaws
Stare with faceless gaze.
And alone she wanders, ever alone,
Throughout the winding maze.

Remembering, remembering,
When all was bright and gay.
Remembering, remembering,
She treads abandoned way.
From long ago, a tune she hears
And laughter from the grave.
The shouts and calls of merchants there,
To sell the wares they gave.

Empty, empty ways,
They're all she's ever seen.
For even when the streets were filled,
Was worthlessness pristine.
Now everyone has gone away,
Everyone but her.
She stays and waits, remembering,
Recalling things that were.

Bent, bent, all is bent,
Not as it should be.
The tents and curtains sag and tear
And lie in dark debris.
The ghostly, crooked carousel
Parades its broken beasts.
Refuse heaped in piles speaks
Of long forgotten feasts.

Weeping, softly weeping.
She weeps to be alone.
Her world is dashed in pieces,
Its true face now is shown.
She wishes to escape it,
But can't leave it behind.
And so, a willing captive,
She lives her life confined.

Hopeless, she feels hopeless,
Discarded as she dies.
For certainly, there's more to life
Than these forsaken skies.
Beyond the gate there's somewhere
That's fairer than this fair.
Somewhere fresh and bright and real,
But now there's just despair.

Someday, maybe, someday,
Someone might bring her out
Bring her out, away from this,
Might shelter her from doubt.
And so, she waits and wanders,
Waiting for someday.
Living in a broken world,
Living in the gray.