Jester Basket Blossoms Black

This golden weave of hands and feet,
No longer stand as king and queen,
But as jester, those foolish days of hope,
Those foolish nights of desperation.

A parliament of sentiments
Flourished from my pure intent
But blossomed in the lie.
And blossomed black.

A tragic fall of this conception,
Reveals to me my misconception.
And in the Light I am revealed,
For the close minded fool I despise so greatly.

With so much hate,
And so much angst,
I’ll bury yet another here.
And again, I am new.
But this new I am,
Is still as ignorant as the last,
And I am genuinely afraid.
For I may never escape this.

Jester Basket Blossoms Black

Nick Runckel

Toledo, United States

  • Artist
    Notes
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