May Was Dressed In Pastel

This willowed road
that looks
so familiar
is where
Dandelions bloom-
a place
that knows
a circus is
never enough
to gather
all memories
of May.
But a circus
made May
dress in pastel
and my
paltry poetry.

That circus
is where
those Dandelions bloom...
where clowns
are painted
in lilac
and silver.
(As if
made not
for entertainment)

May studied
puppetry in
my eyes
like watching
acrobats perform
tricks in
the rhythm
of a
flying kite.
(The one
you gave
me on
my birthday)

Those ropes
reminded me of
San Juanico Bridge...
May and I
are like
tightrope walkers
trying to bridge
flowers and
poetry through
the Dandelions
in my heart.

Heartbeats
and reveries,
together with
May flowers,
were singing
tea-drenched
symphonies
while jugglers
left the
audience wanting
to draw
clapping hands
in the sky.

Magicians, mimes...
they seemed
to dream
of fairies
and pixies
but were
snapped out
of their
fantasies with
the smell
of May grasses
that befriended
the morning zephyr.

Those circus animals
loved May-
the philocaly
that lasts
all month long,
the common flowers
beside railways
and broken dreams,
and the heart
that loves
to paint
May in
everyone's palm.

May was
a unicyclist
that couldn't find
its own
unicycle lane
for it is
not found
in this road
but in
the graveyard
in my heart.
(And if May
would be
a unicyclist,
I'm pretty sure
it would
have a beard)

The circus act
was a
charcoal painting-
a tragedy-
magical,
ornate,
and made
May own
the colors
of the butterflies
that hover
over the Dandelions
beside this
willowed road.

May always
makes me
visit the
time when
you and I
watched Dandelions
blossom amongst the
circus tents.
May is a
circus-themed horizon
where memories
of pastel colors
try to
chase away
the caelum.

Like May flowers,
a circus is
a never-ending dream.
No matter
how many
exhibitions,
acts, or tricks
will be
witnessed by the
cerulean skies,
circus will
always be there
to remind me
that May
can be dressed
in pastel.

--- Written for a PR Club Contest :))