A Fiddler fiddles a Hollow Ballad of A 'King'. A 'White' House burning Red. 🎻🎻🎻🎻

In a vast metaphor of a house, painted white, a hidden room exists within its hallowed walls. It houses Hope, accompanied by a Dream-Spider which spins emotions on behalf of its resident. Spider escapes only in dreams, never ever absent from her celestial duty of watching over her charge. But hope had been on a long and leisurely vacation away from the room...happily so. For the world was a much brighter place, with hope visiting everywhere.

The Forgotten Room within the house stands as a symbol, an emblem...a protector of the sacred Hope Lantern...whose light burns for all the world to see. Many have come and gone, each leaving the lone lantern's glow uniquely burning bright or dim.

But lately, the light and the lantern have both disappeared from the world...Back to a place, THE ROOM, long forgotten, hidden deep within psyches where shadows dwell and nothing human remembers it exists.

This Room now mourns, housing Hope, locked...vaulted, it keeps hope safe, fearing a shattering of the fragile and thin veil which protects this sacred thing.

Hope rests within the room, awaiting the return of the ones whose hearts burn with truth...For fires have been lit around the world...hearts, betrayed - now burn with fierce and growing intensity.

Oh woe! For an ancient song has been resurrected, the sad Ballad of the Hollow King. His voice echoing across the realm like a bell with no clapper. A ruler of proclamations, not presence. His throne is high, his gaze distant, and his words fall like snow on scorched earth.

Within the Room time marches backwards, forwards, around and around, reliving, reshaping, altering the past and the present. Room spider and hope despair...working together to preserve the common good.

It holds the image of a former dreamer, of a soul, head now bowed with sad memories of hopes for the disappearing good, frittering away.

But the fires are raging. They fear the incendiary nature of the ember'ed storm.

Cienfuegos...one hundred fires now lit where peace and hope once waltzed

One thousand more to follow, one million bad decisions, breathless. Waits.

They gather in the House proclaimed 'for the betterment of the collective'

Where decisions and speeches bloom like flowers in dust. Wisps of smoke, melting away

They bear words like swords, with banners, declaring - End to camaraderie

Gone are the eyes that burned with gallant thoughts, kindness, ode to trust.

Children now must build dreams from broken toys. Their heads sadly bowed

Mothers remembering how to sew perseverance, hidden in the sleeves of their young

The Trickster who dims Hope dances among them, grinning like the fool

Planting painted riddles, awaiting the 'Fall' - the autumn leaves confused.

"He speaks", said one, "but never listens".

"He rules", said two, "but never sees".

"He is hollow", said the Dream-Spider,

"And his kingdom soon will be made of freeze". Cienfuegos adieu.

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The room now pulses with sadness, watching the waning lantern sigh, for hope is slowly dying...its fuel running on low. This room, a refuge - which opened its door to house the fleeing Hope...preserving it, awaiting the day when it is called upon again.

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And so we sing a Ballad to the arrogance of a Hollow King

Upon a throne of polished bones he sits, an impish Cheshire cat purring,

A crown of mirrors perched upon his brow, smirking like a feline devil

He speaks in scrolls, in edicts cold and flat, his minions trembling with rage.

With red rage. While fields grow wild beneath the furrowed plow. Untended.

His voice is law, his decrees reign high, waving as the world glares horror struck.

Each proclamation seems carved in air. Terrifying people who stare - mute. They thought none could break the spell - not from lack of trying.

They watched from hills, from valleys high and low, from cracked despair.

"Let all be still", he now declares,

"For stillness is the mark of grace".

And so the rivers cease to run,

The people up in arms...revolucion ahora...Revolution Now!

We sadly watch as slowly...laughter flees the marketplace.

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Within the Room...The Final Proclamation is being drafted.

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One dusk, the Hollow King stood tall, and raised his hand to still the moon.

"Let no one dream", he thundered loud,

"For dreaming leads to ruin, much sooner rather than later ".

But the Dream-Spider which dwells within the Room, spun a thread of gold , that reached the watchers in their sleep.

They dreamed of woe, of broken jester shrines, of fallen gardens where regrets forever weep. A King and crown no more.

And in that dream, the Hollow King looked down and saw his mirrored crown.

It showed no face. It showed no soul. It cracked. And then it tumbled down.

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An Epilogue arises...The Kingdom up in arms . The watchers rose. They did not fight.

They sang. They danced. They lit the night. Hope awakened from slumber.

The proclamations turned to dust. The throne was left to vines and rust.

And somewhere deep beneath the Room, upon a stone, Hope stood tall.

Dream Spider fast spun Hope into victory, set free, it embraced humanity

Whispering assurance, togetherness, unity being the downfall of the false prophet, crowned king.

The Hollow King, now all alone,

Whispers not commands, but questions slow -

“What is a king, if none will follow?”

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Hope's hidden room is once more locked away...Peace again may slumber within is walls...Hoping to remain forgotten for a long, long time.