Each court crowns a fool
Some wear it too well
I danced for his rule
Now I rot in his cell

A fool for the plot
He praised me in jest
But dead men still dance
When denied their rest

So I wait for a storm
To darken the land
Till cracks start to form
Beneath his command

Till the famine-worn tread
With their torches held high
To harvest the crumbs
Of a banquet denied

They carry my pain
In the heat of their cry
For the crown and the chain
And a kingdom awry

My cell starts to moan
As the ramparts collapse
They tear through the stone
And free me at last

I walk through the blaze
As the palace combusts
They gave me a stage
Now revenge I shall ******

He begged for his life
With tears on his cheek
I offered my knife
And let silence speak

No need for a trial
His crimes were well known
So I asked with a smile
Who had the last laugh

Funny how in love you can be
Just for no one to laugh

On the Jester's neck was a blade
What will he do? Run and evade?
No, he made fun of its size:
This one wouldn't cut me into dice—
A funny way to the gates of paradise,
Yet a brilliant way to make one never fade.

You don’t know?
Are you yet to hear?
The endless well of entertainment,
The Court Jester,
The explorer of the end
Of your limits,
Never breaks, nor is broken.

He gives distraction to the weak,
And to those who lack will,
He grants strength.
Still, he knows well
The fragility of the strong.

Humor not The Jester,
And even the king shall find himself
In pieces,
And the nobles shall
Seamlessly crumble.

But they who humor The Jester
Shall mend their cracks.
They shall mount up upon legs like man before them,
They shall run and not weary,
They shall walk and not faint,
And The Jester shall lose his own balance.

Not that it’s of our concern.

Once upon
I felt the call
To take a midnight walk
And stumbling through
The misty streets
A voice began to talk

Fear not said ye
The angels call
I must have reached the Lord
But falling through
The gravel road
The stone and I’m the sword

The king of far
And futures will
Be beckoned by the light
With fist and tongue
He rules below
The tempting of his might

And yet we see
His gentler heart
Indulging in the arts
The king at last
Usurped from throne
The Jester’s reign then starts

The midnight walk
Turns into morn
And visions fade away
But jesters in
the place of kings
Will never go away

I always liked magic.
Being tricked into believing things that are not real.
I even decided to learn it for myself.
I got so good that I managed to trick myself into believing we would work.
The feeling you gave me was so magical, I should have realized it to be fake.
You got under my sheets then vanished, as if you were never there, to begin with.
I played it off thinking you would pop up somewhere else like it was one of my tricks, but you never did.
Left searching alone for so long, I grew tired and impatient.
I have lost my love for magic even though I still managed to be tricked.
I have learned I was never a magician, just a jester playing the fool.