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The Knave Of Bells
chief of disguise
collector of masks
the King wears his
as a helmet to scare
off enemies
the fool with false nose
the jester in chains
remains in oubliette
singing in his screams
impossible to forget
the old men who come
from the sea and steam
in cold of Poseidon spray
salt and fish from waves
likely alone are the women
and wives of sailors
so long as they have not
turned to traitors,
bakers or smiths
the loves who are steadfast
never safe from a day
when their hearts do not return
fading to old maids all
in the name of heartbreak
the Queen is tired of
the Knave of Bells
his complaints so
needless and vain,
checking his hair in the mirror
she is exhausted
left to remain as consort
to the pain in her heart
for the King is away
not likely to return.
Copyright ©
Lucas James
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