Fool

Jester's hat askew,

I stumble,

crashing to the ground

in a silent heap;

like a blanket unraveling,

or a butterfly hiding its wings.

Echoes of laughter engulf me,

the little pathetic ball,

lying still on the ground.

A quick recovery: perchance

a cartwheel, or a flip or two,

and everything shall be set right.

Sluggish limbs obey monotonous orders,

awaiting the end, as I

lap up the laughter, and twist

it into something new and strange: love.

Hiding behind my mask of laughter,

I realize:

I’m just a fool in your court.