Shamelessly Robbed!

As I my pen take up, 'tis with heavy heart, the gloomy pain bringing a pinched face... you see, today I was robbed, shamelessly robbed...

The day dawned as any other one, bright with the full radiance of the sun warming the earth below, all seeming so normal this fateful day. This tradesman busy all the light through at his cheerful toil, working for a better tomorrow, the days productivities having come to an end, I now donned my clean outer coat and headed off to the busy marketplace; to acquire provisions of food, for life and festivities, I had come. Some provisions for me, some for my dear friends, but all for someone. As I made my way through the market gathering the prescribed items, many a face I saw, many a story lay behind each one, and should I have another direction turned, one story I had not read nor wrote this one of mine, my life unchanged would have remained; but straight ahead I scurried into an ambush by the thief. My eyes dancing back and forth were scanning the passing faces, one by one. All of the sudden there it was, the face of the thief, disinterestedly pushing her trolley through the marketplace, greatly shielding her life from the world around her. My dancing eyes fastened on her face, they lit up, my mouth curved upward into a smile, but suddenly with shuddering speed my world stood still, no recognition, no response, no smile returned, no, not even her head did she raise up to meet my eyes; my gaze I did not loose while I passed her by, in her downward stare I saw an aching hollow pain.  She had robbed me... robbed me of the joy of her reception of my smile, bestowed only on her. She also robbed me of a response at least, and a smile at best... In a daze I shuffled off to pay my bill to the merchantman. Pain gripping at my heart, I began to see that I had become a victim; a victim of a victim. Her joy another had stolen, shamelessly stolen from her. So as I retired from the scene of the marketplace my sadness did not abate nor diminish, although a strong resolve began to come alongside, for to rob another, as I had been, would only make me a thief and that I shall not be even in the name of  a “victim”. The victim only becomes the victimizer at the behest of their will. So to smile I shall and to recognize I will!

Rob not thy neighbor of recognition at least, and joy at best, for perhaps that is all we may ever share and receive to brighten our world here below.

"A Call to Arms"

'Twas a night like none other, the winter's searing cold strove to kill even the most vivid scenes of joy and goodwill humankind could know, with the biting chill of stone cold hearts, that only cared for their own crazed cravings.

The old clock chimed out the time in the wee hours of that morning over the sleeping masses, but there stood one lone vigilant Watcher, his face set into the biting wind, unwilling to bow in submission to mother nature's cruel night, unwilling to love just himself. As our brave Watcher stood vigil over the sleepy throng below, a shadow began to form; ghostly crystals in the iced air came to dance over the North. Their legend he had heard tell of, how once their bewitching power over mortals came, a thousand years of night would ensue, so cold, so dark as to make tonight, by comparison, a festive summers day. Not for a moment would he let his eyes dim nor drift from this gathering foe, hoping against hope that it was only a mirage dancing in fairyland. But alas, the faint shadowy demons began to take shape, for what our Watcher had heard tell of, now he sees for himself... below the masses unaware of the gathering doom; in their fairy tales dancing by an open fire, talk of how the world will one day be just as they want it and how almost 'tis now there, but save for “superstitious” Watcher who, for some archaic standard, believed one must always stay vigilant, even in the calm.

Many a strong man, with arm around his love, slept that night; also men of power, the buff dudes, the men of war, the crippled and the weak, the masses of just “ordinary” men, all asleep in an almost intoxicated frozen fog of self absorption. Meanwhile, our faithful Watcher is scaling down the frozen cliffs to reach the ones he has for so long looked out for and given part of his own life to warn. He knows this will be his last stand and is hurried on by the hope that it will not be too late to rouse the men of Selfishville to arms!! Through the streets goes the Watcher, calling with a strong voice at the top of his lungs:

“Up my fellow men, up to the fight! A foe more vile and pasty than ever we have seen is lurking; lurking in the shadows of the North and massing to seize this our home and all we hold dear!”

Street after street is called to arms, the Watcher's voice now crackles with the strain of the raw bitter cold freezing his vocal cords, but still at the top of his lungs he shouts out the call to arms! As he passes up and down the streets a thousand insults come hurling through the night air at him; the one demands to know “how dare you disturb my sleep?” Wives rail on him for daring to take away their husbands from the comforts of normal life, another curse and a scolding for frightening the children with fanciful fears of shadows on the horizon, even the pot junkie says “man, just live for today and let tomorrow be”. As frozen snowballs are hurled, stones thrown, clubs grabbed and knives brandished to force the Watcher to silence, he pleads with the men of Selfishville:

“My fight is not with you, my fight is for you and your posterity! I have seen the demons gathering over the North, and only you can fight them for your own homes! To arms my good men! They come to seize the very air you breath and suffocate you in your own wants. Me you want to silence? but joy only they will have at such a thing. O my men, will you not stand tall and fight to win a worthwhile battle? Will you not lead your family against all odds to be free from the depraved bondage of lust? Will you not flex your brawn in a fight of glory? Then flex your will in a fight for self control, 'tis given you as a right from the Almighty! Come on my dear men, be willing to love and give yourselves in life and in death for the ones who love you, and the ones who need you though they know it not!”

The stone cold glare gleamed off the frozen ground as if laughing at the lone Watcher as he turned and faded into the morning mist towards the North, to face the demons. His wife and young daughter lay asleep at home for they were safe because of their man and daddy, a brave man who would give up himself in life and death for them and the ones who needed him.

But would it all be in vain and would a doom of a thousand years be their lot too? As I followed the watcher out of Selfishville and towards the frozen cliffs, me thought as I cast a glance back upon the crowd, who I wrote off as cowards, a glimmer in a few eyes, a glimmer of the sun peaking through and melting the the stone cold heart... … or was it just a mirage?

My dear reader, you hold the answer. What will it be??

Tyrone

One tiny red drop... another red drop, falling in slow motion, held in time and space for a fraction of a second.

“Yes sir, another one is dead.”

“Keep things tight and don't send any one else into harms way.”

“but sir, they have been asking for help and now they are dying?”.

Another drop vanishes into the pool of red... A victim? A hero? A rebel?

Who's blood is this that runs red, who no longer stands with us today? Some may say, “a fool was he”, when his blood he could have saved, but gave on that day for another he hoped to save. For help he'd asked, that help was denied; he was ordered to stand down, but that order he dared to defy! For when duty called the choice was clear, his pride and honor knew no fear, for to save others he'd been born and on this day he would not falter. Now in lifelessness as in life, he with the ones he served, coffins draped with the Stars and Stripes, four in number to lay at rest.

One tiny little thought... another little thought, pushing and shoving around in a time machine called the human brain, leaping into the past, prying into the future.

“Are they sending us reinforcements and help?”

“No man, they just told us to stand-down and keep our heads low.”

“but the others over at the consulate need our help... lets go!”

Another little thought is put into motion... A victim? A leader? A politician? Who's idea was it to deny help to our own flesh and blood, who is still standing in our presence today? Some may say, “a hard choice we had to make”; when the protection of this nation was at stake, their own reputation they tried to remake. No honor in this human scheming time machine will ever be found, until the truth they confess to all.

One tiny red drop... another red drop, falling into a ever growing pool of red; to their remembrance I remove my hat and bow my head. But for the sirs and madam standing in that pool of red, a reflection of condemnation is their reward.

Are all the HEROES dead? Where will you stand today​?

"It is more blessed to give than to receive."

This is dedicated to the four who lost their lives in the attack on the US consulate in Benghazi.

Alas, my poor hands have to long been bereft of writing... now how low can one climb down- this is not pen and paper!!! 

Welcome my friend- there is a story to tell, a thought to wield, and all to aid one more to stand firm!