I was with you that autumn day
when a performing mime accidentally
laughed loudly on a whim
and the disgruntled crowd threw him
and his little french hat overboard
into the silent river.

As he landed and was swallowed
by the hungry cold hands of disinterest
a flock of birds flew up into the darkening sky
bewildered by the ridiculous voices
wishing him to drown with his muddy painted face
and be taken to the black sea.

The night had just begun but people
had already decided on their heavenly fate
soon forgetting the poor wretched mime rising
from the bank; the river being within him as a great
past god inflaming his anger franticly over sorrow
denying him thus the privilege of peace.

There and then, I looked into your eye
mirroring the red moon between grey clouds
the waters beneath it and the thousand lights
of the city we once believed divine
though its greatest days had gone buried
under the mountains of cheap laughter and gore.

And when the single tear appeared on your cheek
I knew that the time of play and games was over;
doomed and ******, the riches of body and soul
had fallen from the pedestal of adoration, desire
reluctantly ended in detachment whilst the mime
half dry already stands prepared for the next woeful show.