I also was one who tried. I realized that deep inside there was so much pain to hide, and so I turned my frown upside down to cheer the world like a depressed clown. I worked, and tried, and strived, and strived, and strived, but instead of making many changes I only increased my pride.
The people saw my wondrous works and my happy face. They gayly applauded while I laid my life to waste. They loved me but did not see my face. I didn't even know my place. "It didn't matter," I would say, as I continued on to play, "I'll gladly give my life away." The people knew I was there to stay. They could count on me every day to bring a smile whilst I play.
They felt they had accomplished their task. That my happiness was not a mask, but a proof of their accomplishment in which they could bask. Their cheers increased in support galore. They held themselves on their shoulders and screamed for more. But they forgot what they were fighting for. The world had since been laid to waste. All the time sadness proving its case. That happiness is foolishness to embrace. I jumped and jeered. I had no fear. Happiness was mine and for all those near. I never even shed a tear for the world which sadness commandeered.
Until one day it came to me. While crying on the beach. I fell into the proximity of sadness' reach, and I was the spokesman for the saddest piece. The people of whom I gave my smiles were the saddest ones all the while. The saddest are always in denial. I fought this thought with all my heart. I knew there had to be more to this world torn apart. So I devoted my life to studying their smarts. "I will teach all these fools," I swore, "surely they are merely sad because they lost sight of the rules they had!"
So I studied, and spoke, and I worked, and I joked like the happy people I once knew. I wrote volumes of optimistic views, and made good friends who had good news. I became more confused. I thought I had the secrets nailed. How could I avoid the sad and then prevail to be the perfect man they all would hail. They would speak again of my wondrous works, my eternal smile, and my endless perks. And even though I could see our selfish thoughts I would ride them to the top, and never drop until my model of happiness could not be stopped.
It was working, I would think, I could feel the sadness shrink. So I thought I would call a friend to drink, to celebrate my wondrous works, and share away my special perks. But when I looked through my contact list, I realized all the times I'd missed. The people evaporated like mist, and left me with their sediment. So I toasted to myself. A victory to my personal health, and kept my head up swimming in wealth.
The next day it happened like the fiercest storm. The premonition proved its scorn as the storm ripped away my hearth. The roof, the floor, and even my bedroom door. The wind swept me up with nothing else, and dropped me battered out of the blue at that happy place that I once knew. I managed still to crack a grin through bleeding lips and bloodied skin, but the people wouldn't let me in. Their hero once was then in need, but they themselves had found a deed more worthy of their special breed. "To be healthy," they would say, "being happy is so passe." So here I lay, an unwanted clown, with dried blood make-up and a natural frown. Neglected, alone, with life unfound. So I dusted off what was left of my clothes, and walked away feeling justifiably morose.
I stuck through learning all their rules, and worked wading through their positive drool. I told myself, "I'll be no fool," I would learn the sad world's rules too. So I read some books that changed my view. I met some people that did that too. Yet, I kept my rules hidden out of view so I could play both sides in lieu. It worked for a short time, and I learned some new trades. Instead of waving incense I smoked out my brains, and instead of sacramental wine it was liquor I craved. But then again my whole world caved.
For seeking to understand, control, and impress it was myself I decided to neglect. I lost my life, my friends, and my will. There was no janitor to clean up the spill. My mother couldn't help nor Dr. Phil. It was me. I'm the one I repressed. My boxed up self restricted to progress. Denied the right to express. My soul melted in its cage, and it left quite a mess.
Now I am here. In the world of the sad. I hope you don't hate me for the past that I've had. Perhaps we can be friends and make ourselves glad? For an instance, a moment, for one passing fad? Because I know that happiness is real and so is the sad, but neither one really can be eternally had. At least in this place both share this space, and here I am not displaced. For I was here all along. I was born to be healthy and raised to be strong. Not ever again will I dare to long to deny myself to impress those who sing songs. Now I know to facilitate false happiness is undeniably wrong. And as God as my judge I will go on, and I will tell the tale of what went wrong with this clown and his solemn song.
