Red ruby shreds of crinkled paper
Lay torn from a dying script
A mask of grief and a twisted heart
Incased in a stone wall crypt.
Casting glances upon the crowd
An audience garbed in black
As the jester aims to seek approval
On the return of his comeback.
Foolish pranks that once paid off
Now crack in the cold aftermath
The execution of self penned jokes
Refuse to provoke a laugh.
A weeping heart and forsaken soul
Upon a stage carved out of fear
As the curtain falls, rejection calls
For the end is drawing near.
Tears for the jester are quietly shed
The master of fools is ripped
It's late in the day of twilight years
For an old jester without a script.
Gold trophy winner
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