Carousel? Too genteel.
Merry go-round? Definitely not.

Music profoundly distorted.
Charged, dissonant, cacophonous.
Maniac spraypainted stallion,
nostrils flared, madly races.
Those in front? He pushes on.
Crazed, dazed followers?
Cold steel pole spines
pierce once-feeling hearts.
They gallop blindly in his tracks.
Up. Down. Up. Down. Round and round.
Reality beyond ignored,
blurred by gullibility and greed.
Hands reach out to slow the pace.
Severed bloody limbs litter ground.

Where is the carousel beloved by all,
once built by craftsmen’s hands?
What happened to the rules?
Timed tickets. All can ride.
Adults protect the way for young.
Old-timer carnival buskers grow hoarse.
Clown make-up drips real tears.
And here we are.

Written for Open Link Night (OLN) at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Bjorn in Stockholm, Sweden is hosting, inviting folks to post one poem of their choosing. He also provides an optional prompt. Photo from Pixabay.com