Today I did take a trip down Ashen Row,
Stepping 'cross stones both cobbled and cold,
Each pebble and brick laced with poverty's woe,
Observing nothing but starving children and dying old,
They stood with eyes hollow,
Hands that shook, knees bent,
Mother's clung to babes in sorrow,
Radiant once, now ravaged, spent
Sobbing beneath their weighted sin,
Too weak to fight, too strong to sleep,
While sunlight cowered behind silver skin,
And the wind could only scream and weep,
Bawling through streets-unheard, passed by,
While we moved in polished deftness,
Preferring the chatter of the spry and sly,
Master of our chosen deafness,
We saw the world in colours two:
Those of our gods, gold and might
A hungry child remained untrue
A whispering ghost beyond gilded sight,
Too small to matter, now ghosts. Denied.
No trembling limbs, nor fleeting breath,
Only shadows stretched, and rain replied,
With air, and stone, and death,
Now crime blooms where hope fled,
And Avarice wears high its sulfur crown,
We traded Saints for Lords of Greed instead,
And cast the cries of hunger down,
Yet on the road of stone and chill,
Danced a Fool, with iron will,
In colours too wild - too many to name,
He spun beneath painted acclaim,
His eyes sparkled, as though they knew,
What stars confess to chosen few,
He danced a wild and holy rite,
His shoes sang sorrow through the night,
The wind grew still to watch him spin,
The skies drew back, and smiled within,
And stone - from its cold unyielding throne,
Would hum unknowingly beneath his tone,
Each day I passed, each day I heard,
A hidden grief in every word,
His body spoke with frantic grace,
A mourning song, a laughing face,
Which god he served, I could not tell,
What vow he made, no tongue could spell,
But once- so fleeting, fierce, and bright -
The sun broke through, and dark turned light,
He could not end hunger's ache,
Nor mend the homes the rich forsake,
But when he danced, it seemed - it seemed -
The weary world itself then dreamed,
And for that grace alone, for a Fool's soft art,
I hold him sacred in my heart,
For he made stone sing - in ancient tone -
As if it crowned a long lost throne,
Whispering dreams forgotten, known.
If only everyone had a Fool once in a while....
