Confession

I’ll confess that sometimes I wonder what you see, watching me, passing by me on the street or in some crowded place, or even as you stare at me perched from your high place, or when you glance upward from the shadows of your pain; which of us have you seen?

 

Was it the wailing child, sleepless, pink, crying in the night for the comfort of his mother’s touch, or the little boy, wading in the creek, the wanderer, the explorer, the one searching for the perfect flat stone to hurl across the green hues of algae covered waters, counting each skip, lost in the daydreams of youth, or the longing, noble young suitor jousting for the hand of his maiden?

 

Did you see the slayer of dragons, seemingly fearless, full of thunder, the watcher of the dark skies or perhaps you saw the prodigal, the dreamer, the poet, the digger of soil and planter of dreams, the sage, the prophet, or the fool, the faithful soul in white robes or the skeptic, the pilgrim that wanders in the fog, dim lamp in hand, searching for truth, have you seen the young warrior, clean and fierce, or the muddy, scarred in body and soul, the one with the battle weary face, covered in mud and sweat, smelling of fears overcome and those yet to face?

 

Could you have seen the old man, stooped and frail, bent, unbroken, the one who hears the relentless tick-tock of mortalities clock that grows louder with each sunset, the one who rises from sleep amidst the echoes of cracking joints, rising with aching bones, beseeching a treasonous body to yield to the will of his undaunted spirit, the one who does not fade, does not relent, the one, who, mindful of all his failings and all his victories, feels the ache of hope deferred, the one who has learned the difference between grief and regret, yet knows the taste of both, this man who looks in the mirror and sees both stranger and friend?

 

You there, watching, I wonder which one of us you have seen?

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