The Road

I met this man once as I walked along the road
as I ran away from life (or death)
and dreams (or memories)
and hopes and plans and everything that was laid out before me.
I met this man.
But I guess he wasn't really
a man, he was too young, but he wasn't
a boy, he was too old to be a child.
He was just a guy, standing by the road,
and he started to walk with me.
I knew him from somewhere,
a distant past,
a time long gone,
perhaps another life,
a life before this one I ran from.
And as I ran, he walked,
but always kept in stride.
And as he walked with me, he taught.
Of politics and literature - of the world -
of his own thought and views as well as others
(though they often intertwinded)
He taught me things I'd never known,
and told me things I'd known forever.
He taught me about friendship.
He made me teach myself things.
He made me slow down and walk beside him,
step by step, mile by mile.
He imagined with me, he shared confused thoughts.
He told me of an angel he had once known,
who danced and imagined and talked in the moonlight.
And then he taught his greatest lesson,
though I didn't want to hear.
He taught me about myself.
He told me things I knew, but didn't want to recognize.
He told me what I ran from and told me to stop.
But I started running.
And kept running,
and didn't want to know,
and he was lost somewhere in the dust.
He who taught me the greatest lesson,
who held up a mirror and made me look at the face
and realize that what was there
wasn't so bad after all.