The First Dream:
Once there was a jester, fine and proud
Lived a life comfortable, with hardly a frown
Dancing all day, singing like a laddie
Sometimes with flashes of brilliance
which he treasured dearly
Yet although he danced, he could feel little warmth
Flashes of rage too, would disrupt a song
For though he was a jester, blessed lucky and proud
'Cause of the things he lacked, he would often feel down
Why was this so? Ask the Jester!
Wordless he would, point to the candleholder
This poor jester had never felt warmth since birth
For a curse was on him:"By the flame, be never loved"
Now what did that mean?
Let me come clean.
Jester could touch the flame,
and not even feel pain
He could never feel the fire's warmth on his skin,
and during Christmas, he could feel winter's bite from within
Hugging the pole that held the fire,
he would survive on the warmth, conducted from the fire.
The Last Dream:
One day he could stand it no longer
he summonned out some magic, the curse he tried to sunder
He spoke to the spirits of the candle,
"Could i bask in your warmth?"
The spirits said nothing, but lifted the barrier
The closer he got, the higher were his hopes,
but before he even neared it, into pain he soaked
The short burst of pain was followed by silence,
The barrier had closed again, against Jester's cadence
He knew why it closed,
But why?
The Jester seeks again,
letting out a rare sigh
undead withering eternal