The Jester

A poem inspired by recent ruminations on Truth


I went to see the Jester in her court
she wore her tattered rags with pride, I saw
pulled at the holes and gently sighed about
the lack of courtly manners in the world.

I listened to the Jester as she sang
her words ringing hollow in the halls
"my cloak I wrap around me in great pomp"
as she pawed the ragged edges with clawed hands

I asked the Jester if she ever wore the Truth;
she eyed me like a spider eyes its prey
I say, It's not that hard a question, to be sure?
she thanks me for my visit with a smile.

I would have pressed her further if I could
she bandies words around like weaponry
forgiveness is a scalpel in her hands
and justice is an axe she likes to throw

I wouldn't trade for all the gold you offer
but the Jester is quite happy, I believe
Our reunion was a success in her eyes
She'll weave a song about it and I'll sing.

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