A dying court jester’s lament

dying jester
I fancied handfuls of costumes in my youth, tried many of them on in the changing rooms of Time (all ill-fitting), and in the end, pieces of cloth from each costume became the patches that constituted my jester’s attire.

When I was young, it was easy, with no trial efforts and only Ego as my advisor, to see myself in the most glamorous of costumes, to imagine my genius and vast potential!

During the dawn of Plenty Of Time, I tossed myself naked into the sea and drifted, butting into land when storms washed me there, and I wore whatever costumes were put on me by the natives.

By the Nearing Of The End Of Time, I had amused far more than I could count (of course). My fait accompli was the making of my own costume. I had roused my will to effect it, and the court at that time, they came and went, watched as I basted and stitched. The day was announced, the large crowd held their breath, and under the garish lights I danced for them, nearly all seams a-popping.

There is no joy in fabricating works of any kind if you are not born to the task.

There is no consolation in beauty because it is not your own, and in the end it leaves you to die, cold and unwanted.

Perhaps at best, there is reward in giftedness, but the gods are stingy, it is only for the few.

Take heed, there is nothing you can do, rail as you may, for Destiny is the coldest, cruellest bitch you’ll ever know.  And her claws, those that are sunk in you from birth, are not her own, they are Death’s.

Thusly, here I end, a silly, spent little man who was good at nothing but failing in funny ways.

Click here for more on prompt #323 – Costume from other Sunday Scribblings participants.


12 Responses to “A dying court jester’s lament”

  1. June 10, 2012 at 10:20 pm

    Donning what is given rather than playing with choice. An interesting alteration of fate. This was a delight to read. 🙂

  2. June 11, 2012 at 8:43 am

    Perhaps we all fail in funny ways..we certainly all scavenge and pick..borrow and appropriate..there can’t be an original costume left in the wardrobe of the world..maybe that makes us all belong..there is gift in the hand of the scribe Ms Z..and beauty..Jae

    • 4 zanzinece
      June 12, 2012 at 2:28 pm

      Truly,dear Jae, there is nothing new under the sun, just variations on themes, and that is definitely a sign of ‘normalcy’!

  3. June 11, 2012 at 9:31 am

    alas…poor jester…slipping away into the sea…a great loss for you as well as for me

    • 6 zanzinece
      June 12, 2012 at 2:29 pm

      Amen, Sister. The day I realized I was mediocre I might as well have perished, but instead I dissolved : )

  4. June 11, 2012 at 1:46 pm

    The metaphor of the tailor/jester was well-infused in the piece. I would love to read more.

    • 8 zanzinece
      June 12, 2012 at 2:29 pm

      I’m afraid I composed it willy-nilly, no dart board with bull’s eye, no training, but the chances are there… Certainly, I’m very pleased you stopped by : )

  5. June 12, 2012 at 4:26 pm

    It reminds me of some writings by German philosophers from long ago. 🙂

    • 10 zanzinece
      June 13, 2012 at 4:56 am

      Zanzinece, unwitting channeler of Nietzsche. Yes, yes I like the sound of it ; )
      Glad to see you here, Cathy.

  6. 11 Kay Gibson
    June 16, 2012 at 10:33 am

    Loved it: Kay Gibson

    • 12 zanzinece
      June 17, 2012 at 2:21 am

      Oh yes, Kay, I remember your clever little ditty re: Fortress!
      Thank you so much for stopping by, glad you liked it : )

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