Puddleseer
there was once a man
whose head was always bowed
wherever he went he always
watched his own two feet
shuffling along
left right left right left right
he saw feet
he saw dirt
such is the world
feet upon dirt
such philosophy
did this man hold
then, one day
rain fell
wet and cold
soaking the man
he grumbled
he growled
feet mired in mud
such is life!
the rain lashed
the back of his neck
the man stayed bowed
watching his mud-mired feet
some time passed
the rain stopped
the man was still wet
but he came upon a puddle
watching his feet approach it
the man bid them to stop
and their shuffling slowed
he looked down at the puddle
much to his surprise
the water reflected his bowed head
he thought he looked weary...
tired, worn out, distraught
but beyond his head
shapes were moving
white, upon a blue field
the man wondered what they were
he watched the puddle
he watched the shapes come and go
they faded into darkness
he saw small white dots instead
his face invisible
his head a mere dark outline
he saw a great silver circle
come and pass through the puddle
the man wondered greatly at this
time passed, the puddle brightened
color returned, orange, red, pink
then once again, blue and white
the man wondered at this
the puddle slowly shrunk
drying up, vanishing
the man continued to watch
eventually the puddle was no more
the man had seen wonders in it
the likes of which he had never seen
he greatly mourned their loss
where else shall i see the wanderings
of the quick-footed white beasts
running free across the blue plain?
or of the the white fireflies, flitting in the dark?
now all i see is dirt
the man lamented
watching where the puddle had once been
a dark patch of mud, wet to the touch
when, if ever again, shall i behold
the wonders of the great silver circle
that at times would come and fill
the entirety of the puddle?
the man stood over where the puddle had been
his head bowed, as ever
his heart sorrowful for the wonders
he had lost
he wondered if it had been
something he had done
perhaps his feet had come too close
and they had stolen the puddle away
but he could not rationalize it
logic failed
why had the puddle left him?
it was his! it was his by right!
by what right was it his?
what was it anyhow?
the man did not know
but he knew it was his
he had found it
without him, no one would have seen its wonders
and then what purpose would the puddle had had?
the man felt proud, confident of his greatness
he mused upon a title for himself
Puddleseer, Visionary of Worlds
Unseen by Mere Men
he must be a great man indeed
in the depths of his musings
looking down at his muddy feet
standing at the edge
where the puddle had once been
it was then, at a moment
that something hit the man
smack, wallop, on the head
warm, wet and white
it did not hit him hard
but it stung a while
the man raised his hand
and wiped it away
it smelled funny
the man wondered what it was
he did not like it
he wished he could get rid of it
but the man did not look up
he did not see the bird
flying free in the sky
the bird who cared not for the man
alas, the man did not look up
he always shuffled forward
one foot after the other
left right left right left right
he did not know the puddle
was just a reflection
of the greater sky
always above his head
nighttime
daytime
the stars, the moon
the clouds
the wonder of the sun
that brightness the man never beheld
for it never chose to pass across the puddle
at least in its visible form
yet it was always there
without the sun, there would have been no light
for the man to see the puddle at all
the moon would not have been shining silver
but the man did not know these things
he never unbowed his head
he conceived of the puddle as his own creation
he never looked up
away from muddy dirt
his unclean feet
his unhappy footsteps
his shallow pride
he wandered the earth
until his time was done
calling himself the puddleseer
he never looked up
people did not take him as a madman
the vast majority never cared
they simply avoided him
not liking the strange smell about him
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