The Invisible Man

I once knew a man
who existed so completely 
within his own invisibility
he lived a lifetime
not as much in the shadows
as in the light which gave them birth.

He could go anywhere
and be anything. Often enough
that meant he’d be standing
in the halls of power, so to speak,
and being invisible he was able
to whisper into power-filled ears 
and make the ministers think
they had brilliant ideas
all on their own. 

Just as often he’d stroll about
among common folk
and listen to them, now and then
easing their minds with advice
and offering insight into their problems
which he’d gleaned from listening
to their loved ones complaining
about their foibles and faults. 

Now and then, 
he would push an evil one
into suicide. Called that
their due but never 
cheapened it with
pretending it came with 
glory for himself.

Acting as such a God
gave him a certain gravitas
he always tempered with wit
and a touch of sorrow.
“With great stealth 
comes great possibility,”
he’d intone.  And then
he’d vanish again
and I’d be left
to make sense of and act
on what I’d heard,
which was only a chore
if I forgot how easy it was
for him to be completely present
without being unduly seen,
and if I forgot
all he had ever taught me
about how to do the same. 

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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