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Rated: E · Poetry · Dark · #1545511
A poem about duplicity in our character
The Jester

Who knows the jester in his bed?
When blackest thoughts invade his head.
And laughter lost.
And games are over.
Who knows him then? Our lonely brother.
For off the stage and quietly lying,
The entertainer starts slowly dying.
Suffocates under his vacuous pillow.
Pervading emptiness,
Dark and hollow.
Am I this jester, hiding frightened?
Analysis deepens, blankets tighten.
And overwhelming sadness finds me
Wrapped in my bed.
My mask behind me.
© Copyright 2009 Becks Mitchell (beckrock at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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