Jester

The Red Jester stands,
Orchestrated upon his podium.
Waving his baton, balls of fire
Encompass the horizon.
As the Masked Jester lies helpless,
At his omnipotent feet.

The moon is shattered, fractured,
And thus commences this age of nothing.
The Jester's time is short.
Too short for his omnipotence.
As he stands,
Slowly.
He feels his funeral procession arising.

In this court of judgement,
Lies the Queen.
To judge all men against their sins.
The cymbals crash,
The ancient bells ring,
From their infinite depths,
The Queen's voice is heard:

'Summon the procession!'

Coldly the Red Jester,
Now a mere effigy,
Is carted unceremoniously to whence he came.

The Green Jester,
Next in line.
Holds out his baton,
Waving miraculously,
He produces a ball of fire.
Conceived now the eternal cycle.

No sooner,
His procession arrives.
On but a whim from the Great Queen.
Orchestrating.

Now atop the podium,
The Scaled Jester.
He has no need for wands.
His words are merely enough.
Corrupting the eternal cycle with but a Serpent's breath.

Cast from eternity.

The Masked Jester stands.

And with one mighty blow,
Destroys all but himself and the Queen.
No more procession,
But his own.