Jester’s Lament

In motley clad, I caper through the court,
To garish fanfares from the gallery’s guffaws,
My fool’s façade permits me to cavort,
But under scepters I still chafe my chores.

I mock in rhyme the happenings of state

And all the petty nobles preening bright,

Yet none detect beneath my wit’s beret
A wisdom born from walking with the night.

For I alone drift ‘tween the lofty peaks
That balk at dirt in which the weary plod -
I skip between the worlds while silly reeks

To tweak pretensions in my laughing prod.

Yet tears pool too — to see stiff minds enshrined

That never taste the moonshine I do find.

Behind the king upon his gilded throne,
I caper, jest, and sling my well-aimed spears -
How like we are! Two roles we play alone,
My jokes mask hope, his crown hides secret fears.

In velvet slippers soft, I pirouette

And glide amidst the lords and ladies prim -
Though welcome at their feet, ne’er can forget,

They’d turn upon a fool not chained to whim.

For where is freedom midst such strict façades?

I see it solely in a jester’s garb.

So let me wear cap bells while mirth helps prod

The folly inherent past each courtier’s barb.

I’ll jest and laugh until roles reverse, see change bloom

And help the king reflect beyond his lonely room.