The Fool’s Crown

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He climbs the throne of gold with borrowed cheers,

A practiced smile stitched neatly to his face,

Lights applaud before the man is truly known.  


He promises stars from fields of dust,

Words that shine but crumble when held tight,

The crowd mistakes the glitter for the truth.  


A crown descends upon a hollow head,

Echoes echo as if wisdom, loud and thin,

The seat grows warm, questions fade away.  


He wears the look of virtue, calm and kind,

A clown hidden deep within the robes of rule,

He bows to power, not the people's will.  


Each dawn demands a parade dressed as hope,

Each dusk another pledge to praise the throne,

Silence threatens power most of all.  


He calls the crowd enlightened and free,

Feeds them fog wrapped tight in shining flags,

Applause replaces thought across the land.  


Dissent is branded as danger’s threat,

The drum arrives before truth can speak,

Noise guards where reason once stood firm.  


Promises thin like mist before the sun,

Yet they chase the shine they once believed,

Comfort loves the lies it knows too well.  


When truth begins to crack the painted stage,

He laughs and bends the lie to fit his crown,

A joke survives by calling itself law.  


The throne still shines while reason dies slow,

A jester reigns in robes of blinding light,

The land applauds, the cost remains hidden.  


So heed the laugh that masks as rule,

Fools wear crowns with effortless grace,

While wisdom waits beyond the glare and noise.  


The crown is fed by every clapping hand,

Power survives where silence learns to kneel,

Choose thought, or noise will rule again.  


Look past the shine that dazzles eager eyes,

For truth speaks soft where shouting fails to see,

The future listens when the people think.

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