Amontilado

“Nothing that is worth knowing can be taught.”

-Oscar Wilde

You know,...
I have known a certain passerby
for as long as I can remember being an adult.
Maybe that doesn't make that one a passerby.
Still, I shall call that one a mere passerby.
Sometimes a passerby has a way
to one's heart.
Let it be a glance,
a smile,
or,
the tip of a hat.
A passerby just does as one does.

That one works like the mystery of a mosaic.
Transparent yet muzzy...
Breakable but is not frail.
As hopeful as a dream,
yet, as fierce as a nightmare.

Years of lies masked with praises
and false glory may have left that one adamant
as a fire hydrant,
and then,
botched up that one's heart like a butcher
a carcass in a cold meat freezer
Still, there is a glimmer of beauty.
You know, the kind of beauty
you need to rub your eyes
in order to see.

Oh, yes,
stories to tell.
Stories to keep.
Stories to forget.
Stories to remember.
Some stories are gladly passed on
with pride like a torch of flame.
Some fade with the past
like a forgotten name.

Let this be a story
Of such a flame,
or perhaps,
A forgotten name.