8 sparksChapter 34: The Jester's Judgement
The poem is about someone that's a good version of the Puppet Master trope. He's someone who can make you greater if he judges you worthy, and tear you down if he judges you wicked, laughing either way for different reasons. Or maybe for the same reason: life is a game, and he loves playing it.
Kingmaker, Kingwrecker
Kingmaker, he stands and makes them all greater
Kingwrecker, he kneels and they become lesser
Kingmaker, he whispers advice in their ears
Kingwrecker, his words play on their fears
His place is not equal, nor greater or lesser
His place is off to the side, advisor and jester
Kingmaker, he dances along to make their followers laugh
Kingwrecker, he dances as their kingdom burns to ash
Kingmaker, he requires nothing in turn, he's happy to be along for the ride
Kingwrecker, always watching from shadows, making sure his rules they abide
His place is not equal, greater, nor lesser
He's happy off to the side, advisor and jester
Kingmaker, he giggles in glee and lets his masks slightly slip
Kingwrecker, still laughing as down the drain their dreams drip
Kingmaker, ever loyal but watching, pulling them back into line
Kingwrecker, rarely seen, rarely thanked, and with that he's just fine
Kingmaker, Kingwrecker, it's all part of his game
Kingwrecker, Kingmaker, the boy without shame
He's never greater or lesser, but off to the side
Making sure by the jester's rules all will abide
Kingmaker, Kingwrecker, few will ever know his true name
Kingwrecker, Kingmaker, we're all just part of his game
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👏 👏 👏
"Trees don't exist, the sky isn't blue" 💙
I DEFINITELY song that like We Don't Talk About Bruno! :)
'I don't need hope, I just need spite.' YES!!!
Your writing cuts like glass—in the best, most breathtaking way. There's something in the way you build rhythm from fragmentation, like you're stitching together the unspeakable with your bare hands. It doesn’t feel like just poetry; it feels like memory, like survival. The kind of raw that doesn’t need polish to be powerful.
I don’t know where your words come from—personal, fictional, something in between—but they reach far. You name feelings I didn’t know I needed named. You make space for the messy parts: the grief that lingers, the thoughts that spiral, the strength that doesn’t always feel like strength.
Thank you for writing like this. Thank you for sharing it.
– A reader who sees you in the echoes.
Glad you enjoyed it 😊
Oooh! I like it!
Amazing Your voice lingers in a meaningful way; some concepts require openness, and I’d like to contribute to that process.— D C could help ( a lex ia_ rose 0 0 1) ignore space
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