Stories, Poems, and Dreams

The Man in Chains

I wandered through the brightest city,
Buildings of white and gold,
When I came upon a gathering,
Of people young and old.

A bustling market, a city square,
A place with busy activity,
And then I saw him standing there,
The one they had come to see.

The people all wore shackles,
With various lengths of chain,
But his wrists were unbound,
And his face free of pain.

The man removed their shackles,
He took their chains as his own,
Be it but one single link,
Or chains a mile long.

He moved slowly, deliberately,
Almost sure-footed, but something was wrong.
I'd seen him take the others' chains -
But where had they all gone?

Then, for a moment, the image flickered,
And I saw the man for who he was,
The tall, confident man was replaced
With someone the same, yet different.

His hair was much longer,
His face was marred,
The chains were piled high on his back,
And his hands were scarred.

And just then, he saw me,
And the image returned,
He strode toward me slowly,
And extended his hand, smiling.

Suddenly, it was like I was looking
Through both of my eyes at once -
My left perceived the strong and confident one,
My right beheld the one with shoulders hunched from carrying the weight of the world.

And I looked down at my own chains,
Dragging across the ground,
But then, I looked up again,
And met both of their eyes.

And I suddenly knew whose eyes I beheld -
My own.
The man's face was mine,
And mine was his.

And with this, the confident one sighed,
Lowered his hand, and disappeared,
For he was only an illusion,
Hiding who he really was.

But the one in chains still held out his hand,
And his eyes were brighter.
Someone had finally seen him for him, and not for the mask he wore.

I looked at the chains piled high upon his shoulders,
My shoulders,
I held out a golden key,
And he took it.

But instead of freeing himself,
Instead of unlocking his shackles,
He did his best to unlock mine.