Untitled By Dylan Marcy Earlier today, I met a queer old man, dancing to a merry tune, Whistling happily, content, not one to consent to the shackles of a downtrodden mood. He was a different sort, a touch maddened with glee, with a grin for each man, bird and tree. I went up to him and asked, “Sir, who might you be?” and he spread his arms wide, answering only, “See!” I took a look around, busy and ready to be off, doing my best not to laugh too hard at the sop, when suddenly I started to see. The sun shined proud, hardly a cloud in sight, while wind kissed a cheek burdened and lonely, I saw this odd man in an entirely new light, no longer strange, but suddenly strangely free. Without a care in the world or a worry in sight, the man that had nothing was obviously better off than me. I asked him again, “Sir, who might you be?” and this time he answered me solemnly. He was the road we all travel, the human spirit incarnate, father of eras past, present and future, He was you, he was me, and he was almost certainly here and now for a reason. Still somber he reached out, placing a hand on my shoulder, and uttered something meant only for me: “You struggle and fall, from walking to crawl, and somehow you still carry on, Through trials you face at too rapid a pace for the common man to acknowledge, But lucky for you, common men are few, and the greatness is buried in all.” Tears in my eyes, quite to my surprise, I found myself wanting to jest, I joked, “Hey there old man, you’re not what I expect, talking to God, himself.” I pointedly looked at his dirt stained clothes, and ragged, worn through sneakers, He grinned at me then, and with a wink and a dance, said “Well then, what were you expecting?” I stopped at that, him expecting an answer as he stroked his brown, grey-streaked beard. I told him, “Well then, you know, I suppose you’ve quite stumped me there”, and he told me to try harder than that. With a glint in my eyes, and an eye to the sky, I pointed and waited for his view to follow. I told him then that I had no expectations, but I was sure I could provide some suggestions, I saw him in the breeze, guiding wind through the trees, laughing with phantasmal joy, I saw him again, in the ocean-covered sand, giving life to millions of denizens, I saw him once more, in a scene straight from lore, in the form of an Amazonian tree. He tilted his head, a smile covering his face, and held out a hand to me. I shook it, of course, and with great remorse, he confided he needed to leave. I nodded then, sorry to see him go, but understanding why it needed to be. If I kept him for myself, this epiphany would surely travel no further than me. He turned on his heel and began to whistle a tune both haunting and low, It was strange to hear, exiting smiling lips, and seemed too solemn by half. It was beautiful, to be sure, and will stay always with me, until the day we meet again. I turned around and was to be off, when I thought of one more thing to ask, But when I whipped around, this most strange old man, was seemingly not to be found. I turned quickly in fear, when the wind once more kissed my cheek. I felt the man’s whiskers, and heard his bright laugh, and knew then the answer to the question unasked: “But, sir, why choose me? There are others this day, wiser, more sage, and yet you chose me for this honor!” His answer was simple: “Because you, my young friend, saw something others had not.” I knew it right then what it was I had seen, and cast my own worries aside. It was a beautiful day, both sunny and warm, and even more happy besides. I closed my eyes, and took a deep breath, letting it out of my nose. The world seemed a much brighter place, a less empty space, full to the brim with life. An answer to all of my worries and wants, if only I looked hard enough. I finished my day, thinking hard of a way, to translate my thoughts to a page. So a poem I wrote, and sincerely hope, to keep you, dear reader, entertained.
Posted on: Wed, 18 Sep 2013 03:16:13 +0000
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