Delusions about you,
My future, are both
Grandiose and frightening.
You are the ringleader
Overseeing the management
At a carnival ground.

Step up, you say to the child
As you grasp her around the waist
And lift her to a plastic pony
Twisting around the scenery.

In this spinning, if she stares
Long and hard
She can see the glorious paintings
In the swirl of colors,
But not the faces in pain,

Just the art on the walls
Growing brighter
At the sight of the sun
Sinking down into the earth,
Lighting its skies on fire.