Crossroads, A short poem

Crossroads
By: Ryan Beodeker


We have been here once before. Now, we stand at the cross roads undaunted by the shames of our past. Here we walk among the gilded youth. The high society flip flops that vanquish ineptitude with a single glance. Raised up, to new found heights, the glory of being a bird. Man’s oldest desire: flight. To soar out; venture into the hidden city in the clouds, the utopia of far far away. The sentiment that follows is one that requires pause. Utopia paradise, or paradise lost?

The mind expands with glorious speech. Divine lyrics akin to the very brush strokes of Michelangelo. The hands it took to create such beauty. An elegant pair of hands, gingerly holding a hand-made brush, the bristles’ adorned with paint of berries, of flowers. It is the age before the dawn of synthetics, the artificial flavor that coats the wind. The processed cheese, the saturated fat, the high fructose corn syrup pumping through my veins. See the painter, on his wooden scaffold; so painstakingly placed. The beads of sweat running down his forehead, the immense fear, and awe, and wonder, and pride, and hope, and self-doubt, and his unresolved fears, and his broken dreams, and his youthful fantasies,  and his mothers love, and his fathers pride, and his sisters smile, and his grandfathers hands painted something for us to cherish for the ages. That is the hope with the written word.  To craft something so pure, so painstakingly beautiful, that it awes in its sight. Something for every one of us to revel in. To make us set aside what we are.

We’re all Atlas, with the world on our shoulders. We hope for the day we stop needing the money, the credit cards, and Xanex bars. The day we get to stand up on our own two feet, look out at everything the light touches. Only this time in our kingdom, we have learned to respect the fact that we’re all the same, yet completely different, known by different names. But even then, after all that, there still is some dark, that one tiny spot in the distance you see. The dark spot, our elephant graveyard, full of sadness and debtors, liars and clowns, other friends who require us, lest they fall down. Now we don’t turn our backs and send them away, and even better yet we don't tell them to pray! We reach out and help our fellows in need, because after all, they’re humans, indeed.

So one day, when the great kings of our past look down, they’ll smile, then sigh, that sweet sigh of relief. Perhaps then think for a while, on all of the sacrifice and toils of the past, of the wars, the lost soldiers, and the heroes we’ve had. To the buildings we’ve built and the movies we’ve seen, to the great wall of China, to all of our kings and our queens, and a dream. To see a world without hate, fear and oppression, when we've stood up together ending our depression. The sentimental value of life then will be our greatest power; not our assets, our cars, or the houses we pride on. But loving all people, that’s something to take pride on.

Lastly to each human capable of speech, and yes, it's known, some are quite out of reach; but still none the less we simply must try, to make every one see, like we, eye to eye. That an eye is an eye is an eye is a man, or a woman, or someone with who we can, spread love, make love, and help others in need. For you see my friends, that is the only cause, any of us should care for, indeed.