Enslaved like everyone,

Though not all are locked in prisons,

Before I understood that I was alive, I was ordered to die. Not because of my weakness - quite the contrary - I was strong enough to pass through the gates of existence. Honestly, I don’t know how much of it was my decision. I don’t know to what extent my mother chose me, my father pulled me from death, or how much I could have felt nothing at all.

I do know, however, that the world wanted me to experience. I have no idea whether as the living or the dead, because how am I supposed to know this isn’t all just hell? How can I be certain that I am not already living in the sanctity they promise I’ll experience after death?

I have already discovered my form, I know I am human, for I do not shy away from animal behavior. I am aware of the amount of evil in the world, but I also see the good within it. In a way, human nature encompasses all animalistic behaviors, but doesn’t that define the human in me?

Desires, lusts, cruelties that I could succumb to. I consciously reject them all! I’m not trying to be anyone anymore - I’ve stopped pretending. I can openly say that I’ve freed myself from the closed cage. A cage made from the roots of a tree that I myself planted. A dungeon in a mine that I dug with my own hands. A slavery in which I willingly enslaved myself. A powerlessness that I have overcome.

Yes - I am a product of transformation. Perhaps like a meaningless hormone, enzyme, or simple peptide. Like something that only an overwhelming quantity changes in structure, but nonetheless, I am a product of my own transformation.

How many are there like me, and how many aim to be in my place? I have already arrived here! I am sowing my own fields before I learn to sow depravity. I try to exist as well as the human in me allows.

How many of God’s works were made? – Too many, I’d say.

In each of us, suffering keeps the heart at bay.

Every heart is tortured, full of dread, and lacks divinity,

What’s left of mankind is mere bait for infinity.

But what is this golden rod for?

What serpent from the waters is it meant to lure?

No matter the mineral, no sin will it lift,

They’re too heavy, too light, too deeply adrift.

Rooted in pleasure, in desires so beastly,

Labeled as human joy, seen as deathly.

For what good is joy, if not for man,

Tossed by Dionysus, caught in his hand?

It’s hard not to worry, hard not to fret,

I watch the world, and wish I’d never left the dead.

Since man no longer cares for foolish deeds,

Since people let themselves be kicked on the paths they need,

Since free will has ceased, we no longer carve trails,

Choosing paths made by fools who prevail.

Where do we stand?

In a world that’s displayed, or in a box where dolls decay?

What’s in there?

Is it hope that’s been stowed?

Or has it hidden, refusing to be shown?

It’s useless to wonder,

Hope died long ago, torn asunder.

Are people still like what man was meant to be,

Or has man strayed too far from humanity?

It’s useless to ask!

Even the blind can see, they’re no longer akin, they’re not truly free.

In one cage, we’ve been enslaved together,

So we shared our scars to be closer, however.

The best ones bore only the smallest marks,

But the rest? Who cares for their life in the dark?

Why do they stain, if their blood is so pure?

Why do they leave traces, yet in silence endure?

I don’t know this creature, but it’s no kin of mine,

Not human – no echo of the heart’s beat in its spine.

Not animal – too much humanity it lacks,

What kind of monster is this that attacks?

But now it doesn’t matter, it’s all just a blur,

I died in my own bloodstain, and in it, I saw myself stir…

The most wonderful people are those who can make others happy. There’s nothing morally more comforting than trying to make someone laugh. However, when your work becomes your hobby, you lose your hobby to work. When something becomes your job and a professional requirement, You can professionally burn out. To avoid the mental consequences of burnout, You start burning something else. You genuinely start sacrificing your health for laughter, Because, after all, you can live with laughter, but you can only fulfill life with it.

As a fool, you wander the castle’s halls,

Where doors have no keys, no servants, no walls.

No guards or people, they’re never around,

Until you're asked to jest, to make them laugh out loud.

They’re helpful, perhaps, but not meant for your aid,

You’re one of them too, but ignored when you’ve prayed.

Kings sit on thrones while fools stand by,

Those seated demand joy from those who can’t lie.

One steps forth and listens to the king,

Who speaks at length, but clear in meaning:

“Amuse me, for hunger I feel no more,

Amuse me, or my heart will be torn.”

And so it begins, the jester tells jokes,

But meaning is lost—seriousness chokes.

He gestures! He jumps! He dances with zeal,

Strains his muscles, their pain is so real.

The rulers laugh, they struggle for breath,

As laughter consumes, till it brings near death!

It’s funny, they think, as he suffers his fate,

He stands on his head, shouting “Oh, wait!

Without these kings, where would I be free?”

He leaps before them, like a pig in debris.

He acts like an animal, but does it succeed?

The kings weep with laughter, as if souls they’d freed.

The jester is clever, but can’t carry on,

He stops all his prancing—his strength is now gone.

No longer can he leap, just sway side to side,

He halts all his efforts, too tired to stride.

The kings catch their breath, but then glance his way,

And they lost it again, in a wordless display.

Their gaze shows disdain, ungrateful and cold:

“To be a fool so hard? Do you think you’d like gold?”

The jester has heard them, now speaking with care:

“Forgive me, my liege...I feel...I despair...”

His voice frail and weak, it gave little aid,

The king stood up and then called out in rage:

“CAST HIM OUT, GET THAT FOOL OUT THE GATE,

RUN, YOU SCOUNDREL, BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE!”

The jester ran fast, his legs in full flight,

As if his head might be lost that night.

He shouted aloud, “HELP! I’M THE KING’S NEED!”

He lied, for in this world, no help is decreed.

He nearly escaped from the grand hall,

But lightning struck, and he started to fall!

He turned on his back, his arms raised to shield

The part of him that he wanted healed.

No killing was allowed by royal decree,

So they grabbed his hands and pulled as he screamed.

Dragged to the place where misfortune is sure,

Where immorality is praised as pure.

To the city square, where the king won’t be seen,

The jester was scared, knowing what it would mean.

He felt like a poet losing his kin,

As the flames of his tears burned deep within.

The crowd yelled out, “Theatrum mundi!”

They impaled the fool—the world’s tragedy.