Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Strange Habits

A habit of mine is to walk in the sun,
In clouds as well, when the rain makes one
The earth and the sky!
And bits of hail go sailing by.
Yet a habit of yours is run all about,
Inside of your church where you cry and flout
The lazy daisy I've become.
You seem to think that I'm nothing but a bum. 
Yet the winter came and neither I, nor you,
Saw each other again, which made me quite blue;
For I'd become accustomed to your face
In the window at two.
Now I'm inside running errands and yelling,
Attempting to buy, but more often selling;
And it leaves me unhappy, I confessed!
That I'm chained in here to a paltry desk.
But looking up I see a smile,
The face of one I haven't seen in quite a while.
Rosy cheeks from the cold outside,
And clothing of black and white.
Through the window I've seen his game is mine,
Our paths have crossed, but no longer aligned;
And it seems to me as though from a height
Had I fallen into the scene.
For my stomach dropped to see him wave,
But I'll have the last laugh! That daring knave!
He and I don't have a difference,
No, only time shows the public our commitments.
Now the spring rolls around, I'm free at last
To walk out in the fields.
And I walk up past the window to see
That face of his, no longer jolly.
But instead of the man who held the joke
With me, the bloke,
I see a man whose flippant and red,
And can't be bothered to look up.
Can it be said I,
That this fellow I've laughed at is dead?
I wonder, O why?
What could have turned that lash tongue to lead?
Yet turning around with the thought of going
Inside to find out the reason,
I found myself face to face with that rascal,
Myself, crying out treason!
Said he to me, that habit we have,
Of changing in the seasons,
I thought it best, to end that old quest,
And come outside with you to reason.
Said I to him, O no you old trickster!
I'm not interested at all.
You're a man of the cloth, I of color,
And I wont see you again till the fall.
Well I'm sorry to say he didn't respond,
Rather he sat there, quiet at my taunt.
Wouldn't say a word.
And I felt myself to be quite absurd.
He shrugged and said,
O well, be it all on your own head!
But so you know, I'm your competition,
And to beat you is my ambition.
Scandalized was I!
How could this fat rogue have done
What I thought was impossible?
To have made my taunt his own fun?
Said I to him, I don't want to compete!
You my funds will spoil, will deplete!
For a true man of God
Takes none for himself.
So he said, tis true,
I make and I give,
I haven't got a single jot of wealth.
But still, I'm well fed,
And have a nice bed,
Tended to by the nicest of elf's.
Thought I then how nice it was,
And all of this was,
Well because
He gave himself up for a bunch of people
He didn't know,
He gave it all up, the color, and the show.
My trance was broken,
I was upset!
For along came a customer who gave;
Not to me but to him!
Just on a mere whim!
That horrid man of the cloth! That knave!
Then he smiled at me, lifted his hat,
And walked away like a big black bat.
I felt my pockets, they weren't very full,
And my stomach the same.
I decided I'd pay the toll,
And go up to him, to learn his name.
But he turned to me on the dot when I came,
And said to me very plain;
A man of the cloth isn't in it for the food,
As at times you'll find it's worse.
This is a good year for me, and the purse,
But sometimes even I do curse!
I said that's fine,
I curse on a dime!
And never think twice about it either.
I may be a bit queer,
And sometimes I sneer,
But I can still be called a believer.
Then the sun came out and the cold came through,
The teeth were warm, but the breath was blue.
The hand shivered white while the head made fast
To whatever the body upon it hast.
A frown in the clouds told me upstairs didn't think
Myself to be suited,
A wink,
From the man of the cloth;
Now I think myself a poor old sob.
Tried I once more, as the man turned away,
As the wind in vain tries to make a man stay,
Tugged I on his feet, his arm, his ankle,
And even resorted to be a living manacle.
But he smiled all the more, said,
My son, do abhor
That you act in this manner to me.
Rather if you still,
Find in yourself the will,
To overcome even the sea,
Return to me err a year has gone by,
To see whether all is well.
And if you find the desire is there,
Then I'll be there for you to tell.
Walked away the breeze from me,
A habit of the earth, loose and free.
Kicked his feet to the ground like a canary,
And sailed into the sky like a bee.
But I on the ground remain, like a dog,
Tied to my work, like the ground to a log.
Struggled, I did, for a year,
And many a times I greatly feared
I'd never see him again,
This strange man among men.
Wooly goats with chins of white
Passed by the window in winter's blight.
Kids with horns and saucer eyes
Made jokes and crack the windows eyes.
Then spring came through and I'd had enough!
I walked right out, as though on a bluff
I sailed down the steps of that hill,
Which was my building,
I still had the will.
Having left all my things behind in the room,
I didn't think much at first.
But then the sun filled out, went down,
And I began to be athirst.
I left my keys! That skeleton bone
That lets me into my home
Where alone,
I find comfort and solace in a bad way.
Hoping for another, just one more, sun lit ray.
Then when I'm down among the unsettled mist
That's sipping the the sky like a pleasant tea,
I hear the sound I've longed to hear,
The sound of a man,
Buzzing like a bee.
Flying down the street
All in black,
He smiles at me,
And picks up my slack.
He asks me again,
Do you want to come with me and work?
Will you earn your wages and your perk?
Will you overcome your own miserable self
For the sake of a kingdom
That provides excellent coverage of health?
I said yea to each, and nay to none!
Excellent! Said he,
But there is one,
Just one more thing I'd like to say.
Your rewards are all after this life.
At the beginning of May.
Now a habit of his was to tell these folk
That were interested in his work,
Everything in pieces,
It was his own little joke;
And for it I tore him all to pieces. 
With a poke and a jab I picked at him
Like a vulture that goes for a manikin!
For he did nothing to me at all but laugh,
And in the end I found nothing.
The aftermath.
Perhaps, and it's strange,
I've found in myself a change,
And I've found one inside of him too.
I'm still here, a bit deranged,
But I've found that he flew
Into the heaven's the skies,
Where now he flies,
And never cares again for the woes of earth.
Yet I consider myself to be changed,
And can't go back.
I can't go back to being deranged,
I must pick up the slack.
So I jaunt down the road, laughing now,
At my own stupidity.
For even as a dog may scratch at the flea
I found myself a dog to be.
I still walk in the sun,
In the clouds and the rain as well.
And often the hail causes me to bail,
As if I were avoiding hell.
But my dress no longer
Resembles the color
Of red,
Or blue,
Or green,
Or gold,
Or any such mixture of which we are told.
Now I'm black and white, and I like it too.
For it suits me.
This habit,
It's true.

                 Strange Habits, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012

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