A funny thing happened to me on my way through the park, Just before dark - one summer evening... The smouldering sunset dripped off the leaves - of trees The beauty of the green and the bright colours of scented flowers - danced off my eyes That beautiful kingdom, that wondrous world was my park. Matronly trees with full branches hugged close the spirited sparrows that clung to their leafy breasts, All around the truth displayed, was that nature took care of it's own Each survived for - and because of - the other; so that one was never left alone.
In the background is God's splendour - intricately wove... The fore shows man's feeble attempt at creation...crude next to HIS own Cold unfeeling benches of stone, With their inhabitants removed - except one, A huddled shadow remains; scorned but with nowhere to run. A shadow; not quite real, not quite loved, not quite understood... The stars rise as he falls, Deeper into the corner of the cold concrete bench.
REAL people pass by and make a wide arc around the Invisible Man - whom they do not see Conversation falters, eyes start to glance then remember to ignore the Invisible Man - whom they should not see They remember to forget to witness the plight of the Invisible Man - whom they WOULD not see An old lady's hand clamps down on that of a curious child, who thinks she sees a human being, somewhere in the shadow on that cold concrete bench. Withered hands pull and withered feet hurry to perform the ritual of 'The Wide Arc'; The child's laughing eyes tries to entice a smile, from the Invisible Man, who, to her looks like a human being. As she grows she will learn; that the shadow on the bench is nothing...just an Invisible Man.
The Invisible Man - real only to himself - lives quietly to himself. A quivering sigh cries out for my help, Though I don't think he heard it go by. Clutching his rags around him, he settles in for the night His tired body no longer wishes to witness the sight of REAl folks heading home. Vaguely, an elusive memory tells a tale of the days when he was REAL... Vaguely he remembers how life used to feel - when people used to care that he was there...alive.
My turn has come to perform the ritual of 'The Wide Arc' I approach the bench wherein resides the Invisible Man - I haven't yet mastered the art, I still think I see a man - a REAL one. My conscience hails out to me to help - to share the instincts of the rest of nature... A withered resolve drags my young conscience along, determined not to surrender. Unable to satisfy it's yearning to make his unlife seem easier to bear, My conscience leaves behind a silent prayer; That someone will help the Invisible Men out there.
The moment has passed, darkness swallows the Invisible Man I no longer see what I thought I saw; All I experience is a curious mixture of relief and shame... As an after thought I turn around, walk up to the shadow and toss a coin. his eyes open, hold mind and thrust a message there I falter backwards from the intensity of emotion that he shares. His eyes close again, leaving the coin where it lay As if to say, I don't need your pity, I want more than your money, Maybe some RESPECT, perhaps some genuine concern... For anyday now could be your turn, To become an Invisible Man.
