Diverity
The two sides of truth.
“What man among you, if his son asks for bread, would give him a stone?”
I led him to the heavenly heights above the plain of life,
To where its halls and mansions great stood towering o'er the strife.
It took an agile, aged eye to know which way would be
The wisest path for him to tread to best humanity.
"Look here, young man", I pointed to the misty dell below
Where he should build his house of life, among the teem and flow,
Where chance could come and meet the rise of opportunity.
T'was home for me because it was as far as I could see.
"Grasp firm this valley rich and green with quick ascendency,
And craft your citadel of self, with labor, hard and free.
Stack stones of toil to stead its walls, use sweat and tears to bind.
Your house will grow to shadow those who would contentment find."
"Cast off your yen for fun and friend and pass the wanting smile,
Then use the strength of youth to push and prod that further mile.
Press past the limit of your might to find how far you can,
And forge in steel with steadfast will your image of the man."
I gave him words of sage advice no gold could ever buy.
I paved a path to guide his feet to mansions in the sky.
I forged a plan to give him hold of happiness he seeks.
I closed my mind to every word when from his heart he speaks:
"Why should my life be lived by those who wish one thing for me:
A hand-hewn halter for my mind, with their identity.
I yearn to glide above these stately walls and boldly flee
Off to a far more distant land where breathes my spirit, free."
"Where hearts are softened by the hearth and lighted up with smiles,
And warmth is shared and treasured more than cobbled golden miles.
Where racers vie to catch the wind and win a heart-felt sigh,
And silent snow berms line the lane, then leave when day is nigh."
"These mists", he said, "are made by men to shield their eyes from things
They must not know, or wish weren't so, so histories of kings
Can fray their fears and stay their hearts. I cast aside this role,
Seeing not why you should want these shackles on your soul!"
Mid dreams of races his to win, his vision round me rings
Of willowed ponds and wintered ways, not eulogies to kings,
Not streets of gold nor skies of steel, not lost and lonely things,
Nor hordes of hard and heavy hearts, just light and lifting wings.
My vision lay in tired old eyes that could not see the way
He saw with heart of youth and faith for what could be one day.
Amid the crowns and crowds of life, he trod this earth alone.
He asked for naught from me but bread, I gave him naught but stone.
Copyright (C) 1990 Gary Edwards
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