The jester mocks and tells his jokes, Whereas the king, he hears his word, And both they laugh ‘bout funny folks, Of braveries that they have heard. And while the king is entertained, The jester smiles and shakes his head, For he’s a jester, friend and saint, Forerunners told him who are dead. The king is lost, they start to sing, They swap the crown for hat with bell, Who jester is and who is king, The servants ask, they cannot tell. by Salia Jansen
If only I could remember the first smile that lit up your face when your little hand got ahold of my fingers. How peaceful you looked, napping in my arms, so safe.
ReplyDeleteIf only I could recall the first words you pronounced, longing to tell me about the exciting new things you had seen.
All those memories are lost to me now, like an old movie that has faded away.
Instead, I see your broken skull- blood streaming out of it like a fountain. I hear your high-pitched voice cutting through the darkness of the basement, trying to explain where you have been. As the lights go on, I cannot help but stare at your hand reaching out for me, pleading for help. I can feel my fingers losing their grip of the cold steel of the gun, and fear evaporates into pain.
Wow.
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