I am somewhat given to melancholy, Lord,

Said the Fool,

And though I would give you the mirth that you crave,

All that I work is coloured by sadness,

Whatever I will.

 

My mother cried when I was born

And there was no star to dance

By way of salvation

And I was coloured by that,

Whatever I will.

 

And whatever I will my colour is black:

The colour of warmth, the colour of comfort,

The peace of the night,

The sanctuary of womb,

The safety of death.

White is cold and harsh

And unforgiving:

The colour of charity, the colour of pity,

The colour of love.

And you want a unicorn to dance on a rainbow!

 

Yet I have tried for such.

I have stared at condensation

On a pane of glass

As it glitters its colours

In the light of a candle.

I have sought revelations

In the black clarity of centre

But my reward has been

My own face staring back

With a scream on its whitened lips.

 

I would give you laughter if I could,

Said the Fool,

But from birth your brightness laid constraints upon me

And I am coloured by that

Whatever I will.

 

I thank you for that, said the lord,

For your efforts at joy, whatever you would,

But rainbow and beast still seem to be lacking.

Entertainment I want and entertainment I'll have,

For Death waits outside at my will.

 

 

The Fool's Lament was first published in Liquid Imagination