The Wild Man

I’m getting know the wise man
tired of his own voice
now turned to gravel.

He’s usually sweet,
but standoffish toward
brutal and wounded men.

Initiation changed him.

Chastened by grace,
he now recognizes his gifts
and offers them to others.

Where words once flowed,
he sits in a pool of stillness.

The only sound he longs to hear
is the rhythm of beating drums.

Look at him closely
and he’ll look back lovingly.

He knows there’s nothing novel
about the scars on his body.

All his stories have merged
with the great myths.

Be gentle with him.
Inside still lives the wild man.

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This poem was written on November 18, 2025.