I met a man across the hill, behind a house along the countryside. 

He sat alone atop a bench, under a tree as equally worn from the years. 

He sat alone atop that bench, staring at the noon sky.

He sat alone, until I sat with him, when he turned to me and whispered. 

“Dark skies cometh, behind the clearness that fooleth you. 

It doth not rain for you, and it cometh not to spoil your day. 

It rains to dampeth grass, turneth it slippery beneath your feet.”

I met this man again, upon a schoolyard, beside my swing. 

He sat with me, as I swung.

He watched with me, as they laughed. 

He cried with me when I left, whispering as I went.

“Feareth not their fearful eyes, gazeth from out their corners.

They make sense of the sense they can sense. 

But can maketh no sense of what doesn’t make sense.”

I met this man again, in the garage of the house where I was born. 

A trophy laid shattered on the ground, inches from where I knelt in tears. 

My father stood above me, but this man came and knelt beside me. 

In a swift motion, he wipeth my tears, and carrieth me to my room. 

“The truth now seizeth you, in your nigh denying chase. 

Lone be those who are senseless. 

Many are those who sense. 

You did good, and I am proud. 

Cry your tears, and sing them loud. 

But from this room, they cannot leave.

Or out this room, you will not breathe.” 

I met this man years later, half a world away from where last we met. 

Collapsed upon the carpet, silenced in my sorrow.

He wrestles me free, from my weakened curl, dusteth knees and stitcheth cuts.

I called him “Father” for his care, but embrace me such, he did not. 

“I am no sire, to your fragile heart.

I bear no warmth, for chills that cometh to break you. 

I am no predecessor to your tormented meaning.

Look thou a little closer, and I will claim you then.”

I would not meet this man again, until one noon.

Atop a hill, this time inside my home.

He sat atop that bench, across another one less worn than his. 

We locketh eyes, as he smiles, for a conversation he has been waiteth. 

“Your eyes now bear the hue of vengeance.

The violent, but the calm.

Your eyes, bear my name true. 

Neither antecedent, nor descendent. 

Neither father, nor son.

No predecessor to your fragility.

But a testament, of your succession.

I came for you then, as you shall to them now. 

I lifteth you then, as you shall lifteth me too. 

The clouds come not to dull you.

But to bathe you, so one day it might cleanse you.”

I meet this man now everyday. 

Conversations, we now shareth. 

He telleth me of the colors he sees from life that cometh.

He teacheth me why true answers yield only questions.

And why true questions, have no answers.

He grows sadder each time I thank him for saving me throughout those years.

Softly, he would ask me,

“Why was I the only one who could save myself?”