“PARADOX” – Part One: The Bad Air”
As self-anointed oaf came into town
One night. So few paid note ‘cept those again
Disdaining stranger, aspect most untoward,
As awkward fool, ill-‘quipped, one ped ‘fore next.
And yet he passed away from rest, ashamed,
Our jester, distance kept to walk astride
All others not mistake him, one to belong,
While he endured the whip till scars admired.
Why should he fit? What right had he from frown?
To amble free of shame, was meant for pain,
Lo, heart, so full, yet often pierced by sword,
While never told existence be so vexed.
Salvation from a brutal world, so maimed
Was psyche his, ‘twas ne’er to find a bride,
For soul so damaged, suffered so much,
Desired were lots, by none was he desired.
Had heard that one could end his life as clown,
That she could lighten load, and ease the strain
Of life he spent enduring scorn of bored,
Pretending cared for, only cruel pretext.
And so did he, in search of seer acclaimed,
Meander though the town, no need to hide
From her, ‘twas known with auricle, so strong,
Could save a soul from grief in which so mired.
Then lo, one day, as walked ‘neath sky so brown,
While others’ skies so blue, his filled with rain,
Came he upon a place where answers stored,
Within which stood a goddess oh, so sexed
With inner beauty, rivaled that just named,
As told sad tale, forestalling fall for pride.
A story of abuse, so sad, so long,
From ears to heart, desire to aid, so fired.
Attentively she listened, her time did own
Our hapless fool, was urged to not refrain
Details amiss, did matter not, reward
For tragic truth was hope for life perplexed
By finger pointing, Dunce was always blamed.
No matter truth be told, or if he lied
As curtain dropped, felt always pitchfork’s prong,
So sharp, seemed best, from life to be retired.
Assured that cemetery’s grass not grown
For residence, quite yet in dreary lane;
That of his destiny was he still lord,
And naught is one foretelling he is hexed.
Encouraged him that he be next acclaimed;
No longer one without, but one inside,
At last, a member of the envied throng,
For greatness, destined they, so nobly sired.
Each fortnight met they, soul his, to atone
As brought she sand, in pails, so soft a grain.
To each their tub, as neither spoke a word,
Like Incas, mute, unspoken tongue so flexed
Exchanging sentiments so deep, untamed
Were peering glances swapped; neither replied
To other’s gaze with words; they did belong
In dust tossed into air as time expired.
Anew he strode, since seer had thrown a bone.
A taste, no more, yet toward a self urbane.
To walk with rest, and share in life’s accord.
And someday with another, hearts annexed
Respect of self, long lost, to be reclaimed,
At happiness, a chance so long denied.
To pass, would need for seer come along,
And take good care that she become not ired.
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