It was inevitable that Harry would change

or perhaps he was changing

and didn’t know it

there was this constant tension, between himself and other people

and he didn’t believe in tension

so, he wondered where it came from

they wanted things, and they got them

It seemed to Harry, that people wanted the perfect life

like they were collecting show pieces for their doll houses

and there was this tremendous anxiety

that not every piece

would be in its perfect position.

People could say, and did say

Harry was down and out

but they still envied him—and why was that?

Does it take guts to take the glory? Harry didn’t care about the glory

In fact, he didn’t care about much of anything

but he wasn’t a loser—no, he didn’t see himself that way

He just knew, that so many things, weren’t good for a guy

Mostly, he spent his time at the library reading—not so that he could show-off his knowledge—

the rewards were just not good enough—he was already drawing envious looks

they were like sketches in his mind, that he wanted to erase.

At the gym, the girls giggled when he pumped iron

and the guys gave him looks that could kill

but these were the same men, who defiled purity, the first chance they could get

nothing was sacred to them

and they couldn’t tell value from the other things

they didn’t realize, that everything they were doing, they were doing to themselves

even their thoughts were working against them

Harry knew that many of his habits wouldn’t yield success, but he didn’t care

he had this habit of staring into space, or spending hours, if not days, by himself

lost in his own thoughts

He was ambitious, but in a different sort of way

so much so

that half the time, he didn’t realize it

If cats could talk

Harry was an Egyptian

staring at his shadow in the fire, contemplating the ashes

And still,

something deep inside of him said, “You are going to have it all.”

Harry didn’t know what that meant

but as he grew older, he learned to accept whatever came his way

When he played golf, he didn’t do it to be the best

there was something strange about his swing—it was like a lightning rod, flashing in the sun

flowing into the wind

and Harry also invested his money—not because he wanted to get rich, but because there was nothing else to do with it

the frustrations of the people at work mounted like an angry volcano

and Harry floated above it, in his imagination

He composed poetry

One day, he lost his job—and the person telling him had such a sick smile on her sad face

She was physically unwell, due to the spring of spiritual problems welling up inside her

Harry had long since stopped trying to save other people

He took his severance, and did the only thing he knew how to do

and that was to think about it.

This story has a better ending, but Harry hasn’t reached it yet

His own thoughts echo, like god’s voice

and he listens to them

He cannot believe in anything else—to do so, would mean to lose his mind

it has harnessed the wind, for such a long time

empty sails and motor boats are for the insane masses of society

racing towards their deaths, to take first prize

Harry isn’t running this race

but he

will win—whatever that means…