Jester’s End

There you sit on the throne

glancing at my dainty form,

raising your mighty baritone voice

to say the words, that will determine my worth

"Dance, talk, make us laugh.

Your success will maybe grant you an escape."

Taking a deep breath, filled with fear and hysteria,

the sweat already dropping out of my pores,

my body no longer carrying a human color,

How should I succeed in this challenge to come?

"Vigorous God of ecstasy and joy,

I bow my head to you in awe and respect,

hereby making my promise

that all of you will laugh to death."

Citing divine comedies and poems,

of some written by my own hand,

the crowd responds with a laugh or a chuckle,

enjoying all of my troubles,

while gambling on my end.

Minutes pass, they feel like years,

No longer I know what to say to make ends meet.

And when the final drop of red velvet liqueur

vanishes on the master's tongue,

I know that my time has come.