They told us to follow rules
but we believed we were in love,
so manic I don’t even recall the moment
when upon him my eyes were first cast.
A magnetic pull,
a connection so fervent
unlike with prior others,
we whiled away long hours,
avoiding wandering patients or
those huddled, smoking and socialising in the yard.
The nurses knew of our closeness,
but they grew weary of policing our games,
my constant gibberish
of kings, queens, and princesses
and their loving ruling days.
I wanted him to be a king,
but a jester was all he claimed to be,
he wondered why I paid him any attention,
he felt out of place,
But we’d spend those hours together,
around the corner of the games section,
where puzzles missing important pieces,
decks of cards lay worn and old,
we had each other to attend to,
together we made plans for
our lives interweaved when we would leave.
And then came the time for his discharge from the ward,
a magical moment,
or so I thought,
then vanished did he –
my heart filled with dismay,
how on earth in my life could I find him,
and have him remain?
Heartfelt sorrow, drowning,
months of aching,
my search revealed no clues,
the king, my jester,
left lost without me,
only for company his melancholy blues.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
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