The Fool

Perched atop his icy throne.
Perched atop his icy throne.

The one who brings joy

Asked the one who attempts

To bring laughter and mirth,

“Why is it that you cannot speak?”

The one who was called

A fool replied with smiling face,

“I cannot speak,”

Eyes shut in retreat from

His encroaching grin.

They sat on the steps

Of a ruined temple outside,

The fool in his colorful robes,

The one who brings joy

In a simple grey shirt.

“I ask again,” said the shirt,

“Why is it that you cannot speak?

You have the most wonderful

Of jobs in all the land,

Yet I cannot understand why

You do not shout

But only sing?”

The fool smiled brightly,

Chuckling from the throat.

In his mind was trapped

A circus of knowledge not

Yet tempered by the right

Experience into wisdom.

He thought about how

Desperately the words would

Circle in his mouth,

Drowning in a whirlpool,

Tripping over uneven stones

That lined its shores.

How he felt no power

Though he may the strongest be,

Appearing as a kitten,

Helpless in a whicker basket

In an empty field,

Rather than as a lion

With his pride,

As others thought him to be.

Others laughed, he laughed,

Yet this was never enough,

Or was it anything to begin with?

Where is the currency

Of ancient traders once valued,

Now buried under the sea

In lava-baked cakes?

The fool looked at the joyous man,

Still alight with glee,

Eyes stinging at thoughts

Of how he would be forced,

Forever and always,

To reply, “I cannot speak.”

Composed 07/10/2012

Author’s Note: Sometimes, when life gets you down, you just need to have a conversation with someone you can trust. This conversation never took place, but I always wonder if this is how it would have happened. Learning languages can be frustrating.

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