His name was John. He was a quiet man.
He cared not about living according to the precepts of humanity.
He preferred life to be simple,
For in simplicity he saw grandeur.
When he spoke, his voice was meek;
Most times others ignored his unassuming nature.
His peacefulness was seen as weakness,
His generosity a flaw of the human condition.
Quietly he walked through life in the most ordinary way.
The corridors he passed on his journeys were well populated
Though he was hardly noticed;
It was as if he hadn’t walked them at all.
When he spoke his voice was but a whisper;
A breeze passing by the others who were near.
His words fell silently around them,
And they scarcely took the time to even glance his way.
A select few did notice his passing;
They stopped to smile and nod at his peaceful candor.
After he had spoken, their hearts soared with new life,
For they saw John’s beautiful nature, and intelligence.
As humanity swarmed around him,
Rushing and darting to keep pace with the craziness that society expects,
John noticed the stars in the sky and the warm summer breeze.
He felt the green grass beneath his feet and warmth of the sun on his face.
Children surrounded him and listened to him speak,
Laughing and smiling at the stories that he skillfully told,
Just as a spider spins a beautiful, glistening web,
Were his observations of life and life’s journeys.
He always stopped to feed the birds and to watch the butterflies
Flit through the air like colorful, miniature kites;
His day was complete when he had the opportunity
To pet a neighbor’s dog or feed a squirrel in the park.
John appeared to be elusive, but that was only because
Everyone around him was too busy to stop for a moment;
To meet as one heart to another, to find a place
Of commonality or interests shared.
“He’s different,” they would say. “Too quiet. A bit off.”
He heard their comments but it didn’t bother him.
He knew what was truly important.
“They must only learn,” he thought quietly in his head.
He remembered the gunshots in the war,
His friends dying around him; his best friend
Pleading as he bled to death in his arms,
“Tell my son I love him.”
John knew life was brief. He valued the things
That others took for granted; things like
Peace; happiness; soft, puffy clouds in the sky,
A quiet place to sleep at night. The hug of a child.
And he knew their indifference was not deliberate,
It was just that they hadn’t known what he had known:
That life was a gift, it was not something to be taken for granted;
And that its purpose was to give love to others;
Even if they didn’t understand why it was being given,
Or what they were supposed to do with it once they received it.
Love’s grand purpose would make itself known at just the right time,
In just the right place with just the right people with absolute perfection.
And that, John knew, was all that really mattered.