a man and his thoughts,
nothing for the world to know.
a man uses pleasantries,
but underneath he’s alone.
walking 10,000 miles on his journey back home,
a man need not tell you how his feet have groaned.
at the top of a rock bear witness to a sea of clouds.
a man sees clouds too,
but there is depth beneath his brow.
thinking,
dreaming,
pondering,
all that he could be.
but not for he.
you see,
this man thinks about you more than he thinks about he.
in trying moments he’ll be there,
you’ll see.
if a man knows himself,
he need not squirrel nor devise.
open space is his outlet,
the wind carries his cries.
a man in the clouds.
open,
vast,
more depth than you can see.
he’ll give you the world,
if he listens and believes.
we are supposed to question things.
bend molds. break barriers.
love intensely. hurt irrationally.
do this thing called life every day, even if we must do it afraid.
beauty and reputation burn as one's light is revealed.
the person and environment are scorched in sacrament to this uncovering.
standing misunderstood and ostracized, that is where one is to be.
alone without loneliness.
afraid without fear.
in love without attachment.
a lonely craftsman perched on a beam,
the city lights are blinding,
reflecting a dream.
he peers out in the darkness,
looking for dry land,
he sees a butterfly and a wrench in his hand.
the lonely craftsman is never alone,
he sits at the top,
but it isn’t a throne.
high above the city,
his heart is at peace.
his family loves him,
he can sit back and breathe.
