Poem: That Fool

I have been foolish 

A fool as well

Yet, it is misunderstood by so many

Some interpret it as being dim witted

I have been thought of as slow

Whereas others have called me brilliant

On occasion, they are the same person

The reality is that of a damaged mind

Not a matter of intellect

No, that is not why I call myself a fool

Your opinion does not define me

I alone may do that

There is another way to define it, though

If you reach back into history

The fools wandered into the hall

Once the food has been eaten

Spinning, dancing, cavorting

They made fools of themselves

To entertain the high born

Or, perhaps, those accidentally born lofty

They spoke words that would have jailed another

Satire and mockery

Saying as they pleased

Always on the edge of disaster

Entertaining, yet needling

Respect reserved for those deserving

All others fair game

This is what I strive for

I am That Fool