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The Other Man

The most brilliant thought
went from a snapshot in my
mind upon awakening to the
tip of my tongue never to
be found again.

The bathroom called me when
I didn’t want to be called,
when I didn’t want to move
or be stirred. Bathroom
thoughts overruled a moment
of genius, a moment in time
that I can’t recall.

I got back into bed thinking,
“Can a dream be continued,
can I continue where I left
off?” I sat on the edge of
the bed in the light of the
moon. I could see familiar
shadows or so I thought.

I fumbled the drawer open
as quietly as possible and
felt for the pen. Then the
pad. The pad and I were both
blank. I had nothing to say.

I put them back and slowly
closed the drawer. I covered
up. Tugged at the pillow and
stared at the picture on the

The painting was the first
thing I saw in the morning
and the last thing at night.
I knew it so well I could
see it in the dark.

I could see the two figures
walking. There was the smell
of the woods and the steady
gurgle of the stream. The
water was ice-cold. There
was laughter and talk of
eternal things.

There was no doubt that one
of the men was the Christ,
the Lord of Lords and the
King of Kings.

When he turned and smiled,
I knew that the other man
in the painting was me.

Categories: Poetry

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Poet, Writer, US Army (Retired)

I dreamed of writing when I was a youngster. The love of books and writing may have helped to dull the pain of severe sexual abuse as I was sexually abused by two men at my father’s place of work from age 8 to 12 or so. I learned about this for the first time when I was 50 years old. So, as a boy, reading was the only place I had to go to. My fantasy world was better and safer than my real world. I loved reading and writing.
Reading books and writing poetry are a joy to me still and are an important part of my life. (See my About Me page on my blog for the complete profile.)

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