I know a queen who grew fond of a jester, tolerated all his antics and humor he would subject her … to the point where what she gave, always more than what he had left her … with a tear stored in her duct and a hope that things would get better. And it never ever did …
She had faith that it would be worth it, maybe she has caused him pain, and his actions she misinterprets, maybe there had been some things that he’d never let come to surface, of all the things she was unsure of, was always one thing for certain … she wasn’t happy.
Common sense contrasted her inclination to such a degree, that her fear of being alone gave her strength at what they could be, a flame once bright, no longer illuminated the path, of all the things that they would do all the things that they could have. The future they envisioned was an image of the past, in a crooked hanging frame, shards of broken picture glass. It was sad …
So much had been invested into this jester that it was hard for the queen to give kings a chance, their years led her to believe it was fate, her tears hinted more toward circumstance … United by experience, in drama they’d advance, any man would do the same, but only one had got the chance …
Praying for the day that she comes to the realization that a home is built on more than some wood and a foundation. That alone is more than most couples have to display, but love is more, he’s missing brick and a roof for the rainy days. Many nights alone, you’ve been subject to quiet storms as the rain disguised your tears, no insulation to keep you warm … Was a blessing to come this far, but your pain isn’t in God’s will, he may have laid a foundation but he must continue to build …