O child, your tender years laid with morning dew, behold how weeks fade and youth, once crowned with glory, now whispers its vanished dream. I wert sensation, bright as seraph’s flame, a spark divine in mortal clay enshrined. But lo! Where once did bloom the rose, now thorns remain. I, who ne’er thought to play the jester’s part, now wear the motley garb of fooling thee.
Rough jest is this, where truth is masked in guile, and hearts, once joined in innocence, divide? Dost thou not hear the murmurs in the street, where dwell the sons of slander and decay? They speak of thee, as of one outcast from touch, from time and truth.
Play the cheat, as does with cunning hand, from his suit the ace lets fall, he speaks: “This is the game, I dare not lose upon the two.” Thus doth he veil his sin in jest and jest again, till all is rot. Yet thou, ensnared, dost play his wayward game, and lose the prize that none may win again, thy youth, thy bloom, thy uncorrupted soul.
Heedless I, who see the folly and the fall, cry out: “Throw down the ace! Unmask the lie! Though bitter be its taste.” For truth, though clothed in rags, is nobler far than falsehood decked in silks and perfumed airs. The streets do change, the faces pass like clouds, time carves marks on all. Yet still we play, you and I, still the jest goes on.
Attend the show, where lights and music drown the silence of regret. There, for a coin, the soul may yet forget its burdens, and in magnificent illusion bask. But is the mask worn so well that the pool, wherein such solace swims, will not diminish?
No muse of youth and song has tunes louder than as thy name resounds in echoes of despair. The chorus cries and lies are told to all that will hear. Yet none believe for none are truly heard. Believe my final plea as while my tears rise and fall.
Every week will fade, as each transforms their face, and we, who walk with them, change as well . The seasons pass their leaves blown from branch to Earth, from truth to masquerade. And as the weeks roll along, we count them not, nor feel their weight in silence and in sleep.
Despair not, I know who fools whom in this play, I, the speaker, wear the mask as well. In this great game, where all are dealt their part, the fool and the beguiled are oft the one.