The jester, sits, upon his throne, under, a thorny crown,
Straining, to hear the laughter, but his, breathing, is the only sound,
As,, the thorns, in that crown, pierce, his toughened skin,
The blood, that pours, from these wounds, is worse, deep within.
Though, his face, is masked, by pain, still, he carries on,
His purpose, now, seems unclear, his audience, is gone,
Many think, it’s just, an act, as he strokes, his dreadlocked beard,
But, in his isolation, his message, goes, unheard.
Scars, are, his road map, silence, his new, best friend,
For, as, no one, is listening, will, his purpose end,
Laughter, it seems, has gone away, there is, no more applause,
While, the smile, is somehow lost, a broken heart, the cause.
It seems, this jester’s, task, is done, if laughter’s, gone away,
Now he is, the only one, that appears, to feel this way,
Does, this mean, he’s dead, inside, or does it mean, he’s free,
If his purpose, now, seems lost, and there’s nothing, left to see.
Life and death, touch, us all, yet love, still makes him smile,
With, that thought, fear, is gone, he’ll, hold on, for awhile,
His legacy, for which he stands, at times, is not believed,
As, he removes, his thorny crown, his audience, thought deceived.
Though, his task, to make you laugh, was not all, that he desired,
A dream, needs love, to survive, no audience, is required,
If, his purpose, is not apparent, what, could be, his goal,
As he jams, the crown, back on, only love, will make him whole.
As his wounds, openly, flow, people, laugh and joke,
It seems, they, don’t understand, it’s not the man, that’s broke,
If his purpose, or his path, seem, to be unclear,
The only, thing, in his eyes, the love, that we both share.
Still here.Loving still.Forever.