Reflection

I starred into the puddle and my reflection shamefully gazed back at me. My heart raced, for the countenance that now resided in a gathering of dirty waters had aged a hundred years.
I began to wonder if this was my future. Is it here where I am destined to call "My humble abode?"

I painfully regretted my choice of approaching the gathering of murk. More so I felt remorse for that dreadful day puddles had been created. Suddenly, I felt a tap on my hunched shoulder. A hand soft as a drizzle, yet shocking as the storm to follow, kindly begged for my attention. Instantly, without rising, I turned my head to find and old man towering over me. A blanket of encouragement warmed me and a cloud of reassurance calmed me. The old man hadn't even uttered a word and still I felt relieved. You see, for a number of seconds my conscience had forgotten the reflection.

With the voice of a prophet but in the tune of a child, the old man asked "What are you searching for?"
Drowning in my own self doubt, I struggled for a reply.
"Spit out your answer, say something, a sentence, a word, a letter, don’t worry if it makes sense or not.”
Inside of me did shout It stole a moment but my reply did come "Why sir, don't you ever stare into puddles?" Albeit in a quizzical whisper I still enjoyed the authenticity of my words. "Me, puddles? Never! I don't know how to swim."I could only laugh at the old mans senseless answer.

"What is it that amuses you boy? You must think I am mad. But bear in mind, it was only a heart beat ago that you yourself witnessed how deep a puddle can truly be." "There is but one aspect of puddles I do enjoy. I love stepping in them. I love the sensation of my wet and cold socks after the waters have seeped through my shoes." The old man was done with his statement, but his head continued nodding with conviction.

"What is there to 'love' of such a sensation?" I asked.
"You don't understand boy, but I am a man of winter. In winter I have hidden my adolescence. The tingling, the minor frostbite it all makes me consider my relevance." "Have you suffered a lot in your life time?" Not me, but my gut then asked.
I don't know how suffering fell into the equation. My guess is the old mans "frostbite" awakened the question from within me.The old man cleared his throat and answered "In our world everyone suffers. I compare suffering to the arrogant morning sun, to the comfortable stars in the sky and the confused waters of the sea. They all exist there is no doubt, the question is; how much attention do we give them. The only question is how much recognition does one give his suffering?" The old man then winked upon finishing what I could tell was a well practiced answer.

"Would you mind walking me home?"
The old mans sudden request was no surprise to me.All my life old people have taken comfort in me. I would even stretch on and say old people have taken refuge in me. The elderly detect a vibe I give. It may just be a feeling of trust. Truth be told, I do find the elderly most interesting. I am fascinated by their past, obsessed with their experiences and shocked by their existence.

"I will walk you on one condition." I pronounced with a good-natured smirk. "You must promise you won't force me to step into any puddles."It seems wrongfully so, for the old mans next words were joined with the release of a tear. "Fine, I agree. But you must also promise me you won't force me to stare into any puddles."

My cousen My neighbor.

Hailed as a hero,
Though your flag is white.
You retreat like a warrior,
Not trusting your cause, not believing your fight.

Your sword is dull,
From rumors and threats.
Your Body's weakened,
From has been's and regrets.

To the world holy,
To me naked and exposed.
Your motivation is hatred,
Your misery grows.

Dictatorship is a must,
Democracy has no trust.
Bloodshed and lust,
To civilization you will never adjust.

There is only one man I hate more than you,
That is my brother who compromises.
My brother who falls through