This is an ongoing project I've been working on, off and on, for quite some time now. The subject's not a shallow one. The Fool is not the same as a fool.
 
(Oubliette: literally, “a little place of forgetting”; an underground prison cell usually with room
only to stand or crouch, accessed solely by a small opening just large enough to drop the
prisoner through and high enough to render the prisoner unable to reach it, letting no light
enter. The common practice was to deposit the prisoner there and “forget” about him, leaving
him there to starve and go mad in the darkness. It was sometimes used for torture, leaving the
prisoner in total darkness and silence for days, then dragging him out into bright light for
questioning.)

Oubliette 
 
Embracing darkness,
you seek escape,
clamor, chaos.
Forgotten, forsaken,
hiding in sighing silence
harkening solely to daemons within,
savoring the perversity of pain.

Harried by hell hounds,
pale flanked, red eared,
silent snarl and bared fangs.

All Annwfn awaits, yet
you seek a narcotic nether world,
dreamless, dolorous.

Despite the Cwm Annwn,
you dray deeper, farther down,
heavy with despondence’ harsh harvest
fools’ courage of despair driving you
deeper into the dark delusion
in defiance of the hounds harrying,
herding.

Sustained by pain
Searing, subsuming, saturating.
Life and hope banished;
only the madness of memory remains
in the depths of your chosen darkness.

Fool.

Sleep, you seek,
the Fata Morgana,
promising false peace.
There is no rest for the unrequited.
Refusing to reach,
spurning the soaring gift already in your hands
even as the tower trembles, tumbles
nine swords pinion your wings,
wielded by Treacherous Regret
your chosen lover,
forever false, faithless.

Fool.

You choose bitter dark dregs
from the eight cups, spurn sparkling
nectar from One.