a menagerie of fates

"Peddler"

By Antoine

I am a Peddler

Twice a day, four days a week, promptly

I visit the four hungering consumers to which I have been assigned

I have had the misfortune of being dealt a hand of wizards

A menagerie of fates who hold my very future in their hands

When at home I work myself to the brink of exhaustion

Tinkering away, trying hard to build something they will appreciate

Something unique, a special gift for each of them

Tirelessly I slave away for them every night

Questioning the very limits of biology's timepiece

Each morning I gather up the pitiful products of my efforts

Package them and sling them over my shoulder in a satchel

And travel to the four wizards' abode up in the hills

To display my wares and hope they will be satisfactory

Each customer snatches up the trinket he has ordered

Examines it meticulously, turns it over in his hands

Frowns, and makes a few quick scratches in his notepad

Tucks the item away in his sack until further notice

Nervously I sweat, impatient to discover their results

I sit in wait to wordlessly accept the judgment they are to pass

I am a Peddler

I trade in my tears solidified, in exchange for acceptance

For the permission to survive comfortably in society

For the system dictates that this is the way of things

But with Slumber as my cruel and jealous master

I am destined to succumb to him each sundown

Or else suffer the consequences of the hazy aura of disillusionment

With which he would enchant my countenance

Often I haggle desperately with him for artificial might

Bargaining with time I cannot afford to spend

It is then, when I abuse my given privileges

And overstay my welcome among the waking eyes

That my master Slumber keeps me locked up in the dungeon

Refusing to allow me outside, to peddle my wares unto the fates

He poisons me as punishment for neglecting the solace he has offered

Resultantly my place in the world is crumbling

My spirits are dwindling, as the fates continue to mark my absence

And stamp upon my conscience the dark mark I am forced to bear

The dreaded symbol of failure to comply with these harsh measures

I don this now and will wear it evermore

[12.8 at 15:40]

if we were gods

subject: the imperfection of humanity
style: speculative
source: Publilius Syrus

"It is not every question that deserves an answer."

Some people might say they would like to be gods. To know everything, and to be capable of anything. But in truth, so much of what we enjoy about life is founded on being imperfect.

If we were omnipotent, there would be no challenge. Nothing would be impossible. Nothing would be difficult. There would be no games, no sports, no competition. There would be very little fun.

If we were omniscient, there would be no knowledge to seek, no wisdom to search for. If we had all the answers, there would be no questions. There would be no reason to do anything, because everything would be done.

Is this really the sort of life you want to live ?

Enjoy being human, for if there are gods, they must be much more miserable than we.