The Fool
This one is personal, written about my dad...
There sits a lonely gentleman
Upon a shaky stool
There are many whom flock around him
To play him for a fool
He looks out with his lonesom eyes
Across the braying static
Winking cheap, electric lighting
His reaction's automatic
He drains another glass
Ignoring the buzz within his mind
Peering about at all the the other lonely people just like him
Searching desperately for that which they cannot find
He cannot break his habit
He does not shed a tear
He can listen on for hours
But a word, he does not hear
He does not understand
Why it is he feels so alone
When there is such a crowd around him
The reason remains unknown
I'm afraid I understand it all too well
In fact, the reason is quite clear
He does it to himself, you see
Shrinking from his fear
And so there he will stay for all eternity
Upon that desolate, fatal stool
A ruined, broken gentleman
Forever, playing himself the fool
Copy-written to Xander Bradeshaw