I will not be marginalized, or forgotten. What I am is a good man, with a good heart, and those who need none of me can leave me to die in the realm their own memories.
The words flow sometimes like a wild spring river. I do not control them, nor can I stop them. They just are, and I best stay out of their way lest I succumb to their torrent.
I cause no harm to you, yet can be shelved to the wild whims of voices I cannot hear and visions I cannot see. Left alone to deal with vices not my own, I will stand tall against the demons and smash them with the hammer I hold so tightly in my chest.
Where do they come from, these words? I just stand out-of-the-way, an active observer in the war between my mind and my heart. Both made equally strong to the task, its natural selection at its best and its worst.
Just go, and leave me be. I’ve sat still in tornadoes and quashed fear when death seemed certain. You are no challenge here, for the more you try to separate me from my senses the harder you will find the task. Hear that? That’s the heart you cannot still. See that? That’s the warrior you cannot stop.
Laugher spills from my soul as the wolves howl and the birds circle high above. “I am no fool,” says one. “Neither am I,” says the other. Both are ready for what is about to come.
I have not lived to be forgotten, nor will I be left to die swimming in the swill of your mind. Underestimate me if you will, but know as I walk away I will not do so defeated nor will I do so holding on to the piss I’ve been made to drink. I have died, and risen, to be much more than this.
With that, the swords fall to the ground and the blood stains the white linen of this day. In your rest, you wish to forget about me. The Sun and silence call your heart more than my voice.
Do not take my kindness for weakness, nor my patience for a gratuity. Neither are infinite in supply, and neither are given without the measure of the man who gives them. Take them for granted, and risk seeing only the footsteps of the man who has walked away, seeking not a treasure but to be a treasure. His only desire is to be precious, somewhere.
To feel as a burden is to be a burden. To feel like the sea that never finds its shore is to be a water world where good men drown. I will not drown but I will seek the shelter of an island who welcomes not just the company, but the heart of the man who surrenders there.
The heart of a man seeks shelter not just from the storm, but also from the Sun. He seeks to love and be loved in equal measure, not parting ways with the discipline of his life nor his own sense of value. He will provide shelter in equal measure to his own desire.
The night plays havoc on his mind. His dreams remind him that he is but a figment, a fragment of an imagination whose focus is on the convenience of the mind, not a calling of the heart. Forget about me in your leisure, as I am willing to be forgotten.
I depart now for the dreams of your whimsical heart. Good night, fight well, and know that you are loved.