Adjusting to life's changes with hope… through poetry, haiku, and commentary

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.

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