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by Gl17cH
Rated: E · Poetry · Emotional · #2182186
"The perception of one can be altered by the reality of another." a long poem/short story
I am but a worldly man, a drinker and a lout.
The sort of man that'd take on three more in a bout.
After a night of drinking, the world seemed deathly still.
My bruises and my sickness left me thinking, if I could not stop myself who ever will.
In that gloomy hour, I had a meeting with a man far more devout.
Who listened to my slurring tale, asking what I'm on about.
He listened to my story, as I glumly hung my head.
Thinking he would berate me, he simply smiled instead.
To me "the world is of our making", this wise man did say.
For in our choices we shape our world around us, changing it in our way.
"Change the world", he cried, as we vanished into the night.
Leaving me to ponder if it is wrong or truly right.
Sober now, and feeling my pain I chose to sleep until the morn.
Knowing fully well that the next day I'd still be torn.
See, I knew a secret he did not, and he one I.
And in these secrets the answer had to lie.
For he knew not that we all live with a sword balanced above our head.
And I couldn't see that these swords would not leave us dead.
All I'd known my life was my hardship and my pain.
And he'd seen through his faith that the sun comes after rain.
A lover, a brother, a friend, or hope all hung balanced in their way.
But in losing balance you will know if they should go or if they'll stay.
He neglected that in our choosing, we are losing something near our heart.
And I neglected that in so losing by our choosing we can know where to start.
Merry months of mayhem followed as my life was torn asunder.
I tore from what I knew so well, and felt life take me under.
When the dust settled I saw my path was all too clear.
For my swords that fell out of balance had only nicked my ear.
I went searching for the wise man, who helped me find my path.
And when I caught up with him, I could only laugh.
For you see this wise man, who had helped this wandering soul.
Turned out to be a beggar, to whom survival is a goal.
Here he was, Wise as any scholar, devout as any priest.
Without a pot to piss in or a table at which to feast.
I asked him once why he lives this way.
And balked when he smiled and I heard what he had to say.
"Churches preach absolution, the government demands you kneel."
"Here in the streets, we live day to day, and learn know how people feel."
"like that man there", pointing at the grocer "cocksure in his wage."
"not knowing that his wife has no plans of joining him in age."
"Or her", pointing to the librarian "Assured of her smarts."
"Not knowing that just knowing something is where one starts."
"Or you my friend" as he directed his gaze to me.
"Wandering in the night, drunk as you could be, trying to find answers to questions you couldn’t see."
I nodded at his statement, and helped him to his feet.
I told him I have my answers, and asked if he'd like to eat.
For I am but a worldly man to everyone I meet.
But changing the world can now be counted as my greatest feat.
© Copyright 2019 Gl17cH (gl17chw3rk5 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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