The Jester

Among the circle gathered, he's apart,
Separated by a hidden screen,
A silken filter fitted to his heart,
Making him the other once again,

Tentative when joining with the crowd,
Unsure of his acceptance in their midst,
Fearful to reveal his thoughts out loud,
Lest he be discovered and dismissed.
And so he plays it safe; he plays the fool.
Smiling, he makes jests at his expense,
A bittersweet performance, as a rule,
For his wounded spirit's self-defense.

To hear his patter, one would never guess
He maintains distance by his open-ness.