Monday, 18 January 2010

An unknown face.

An unknown face.
I appear in all your stories.

I walk in;
I walk out:
The unacknowledged.

I leave the scene
And ask for no raised heads,
Or polite smiles,
Or fiestas in my name.

I partake in everything
But you scarcely know I'm present.

I arrive,
And I'm gone;
Before you even know the present's present,
Or reflection has cast its hands upon you.

An unknown face,
With no requests,
Will burn on inside you until your stories
Are buried with your crumbling vessel.

An unknown face
Will be cast to the wind
In an offering to some memory
That passes through you
As a brief shudder,
Which you soon discard.

An unknown face
Makes unknown bones
But permits a quiet dignity,
Existing on the fringe of all you might ever see,
That those of fame will never know.

I ask only that you be,
And smash mould against mould;
And from the dust make new moulds;
And never live by example,
Because example begets lame children
That know not the fullness of reason or purpose.

An unknown face
Will never haunt your dreams
Or infect your nightmares;
It will only pass you by,
Quiet in all its triumphs and horrors.

An unknown face is yours,
And mine,
And theirs;
As we stumble in the dark,
Searching the features.

One day, I will pass you by,
And you will not know me;
But you will feel my actions
In the ripples I make in the world.
I make few ripples:
My ripples are absorbed by the features of the Earth.

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