I am but the gracious Fool of a negligent king.

He only speaks when nobody can see me

or when nobody can feel the disdain

of his regal flapping tongue’s insanity

as it proves to be as afraid

of the dark as he.

 

I am but the foolish grace

in harlequin clothes

and hey nonny irrational repose

as I embrace your impudent soul,

as I cradle your elderly, dusty, ancient bones

and psychologically fractured mind.

 

I am but an honourable Fool

who listens to the many tongues

in your head and who passes

no judgement on your faraway raven

guilt which now surfaces, nuts and bolts

of a story cracked, oh foolish master.

 

Ian D. Hall 2016