I have a very good friend who is an oxymoron,
he is a Human Tajitu, a specimen of dualism.
At times, he is the worst of people, a fiend,
so devilish that he becomes my enemy.
But is not every Human such a being?
My friend is tall, called lanky by his so-called foes,
and his exaggerated stature is without benefit.
His heavy head sits wonkily on his thin frame,
the subject of many ignorant jokes.
My friend laughs at the small and the stout,
pleasurably, without regret nor guilt.
He is afraid of the handicapped,
he avoids them at all costs.
My friend has a father who has an unhealthy rage,
he hates this world, this country, his job, his life.
He takes it out on his loved ones, son and wife,
and he lets nobody stand in his way.
My friend has inherited this unhealthy rage,
he hates this world and this country.
He takes it out on his friends,
but they only fight back.
My friend considers himself to be working class,
something of a socialist, and a liberal.
He wishes for a fairer world,
where he can be happy.
My friend is burdened by an arrogant countenance,
he becomes bitter whenever he is inferior.
His ambition is stretched unhealthily,
his delusions make him unhappy.
I have a very good friend who is an oxymoron,
he is a Human Tajitu, a specimen of dualism.
At times, he is the best of people, a saint,
so angelic that he is like a hero of myth.
But is not every Human such a being?
It is said that white and black are extremes of grey,
and therefore that all people are a shade of grey.
But do people not change with mood and nurture?
Perhaps it is more normal to flicker between darkness and brightness,
between malevolence and benevolence,
sadness and happiness,
hatred and love.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thanks for your advice, Aussie. It was intended to be slightly essayish (it's a poetic analysis, and I have poetic license
