(Written upon being hailed on Facebook by old foes.)
Most have seen them in school,
The bully, the beauty, the spoiled talent;
So well secluded in the clever, cruel group,
Whom if separated would have fallen,
Yet relied on numbers and survived.
Being blessed with brain they grew bored;
Such wit could have cured ills!
Could have, should have been charitable.
Laying sights on the lowly they sprang;
Nay for retribution, but sport.
Insult did not spark such burning misery.
They chose to merely because they could.
Embarked they with tact;
Not a mark or a bruise conveyed
Yet with cold infliction they bit;
Tearing by thought and word.
Ah! Such brilliant jests!
How well timed;
How finely woven,
And at opportune moments unrivaled.
They made you laugh at yourself,
And despise yourself.
Those on the fringe became pariahs;
The plain, ‘grotesque'.
The eclectic they made look weird.
Those maligned believed it,
For the Many thought little of weighing the jibes.
The Few held such undeserved sway,
With allowed abandon they despoiled.
Now, without provocation they appear;
Unexpected, unwanted
They stand there, waving.
To see them again all these years later?
It is odd.
No other word will suffice.
They still seem half-human;
Cloaked in harsh recollections.
They beckon with soft salutations.
And despite forgiveness complete
I cannot lift my hand;
Not even a wave.
I wonder at myself...
Why not be sociable?
Am I not able to exchange wit for wit?
Jibe for jibe?
As I ponder and type it comes to me:
Tis not bitterness that stays me, but caution.
Memories can serve as warnings subtle;
Sorrows bring with them certain wisdom…
One knows that History,
That capricious ally,
Is able to play the same, awful song again.
For a moment I felt the rising tide of Panic.
It is unwelcome.
I resent being forced to recall such times;
To stare vacantly at the screen,
Wishing to go back in time and boldly banter.
I owe them nothing;
Let them stay their course and I mine.
Life surrounds me;
Breaths of health and abundance.
Why throw in blots of mud?
Does one invite Danger itself to dine?
The question of ‘why’ presents itself;
Why the sudden overture?
It is unlike the very fabric from which they are cut.
Methinks it is to muddy the water…
In this train of thought I am joined by a throng of Others;
For interest has a darker side,
And through the years come whisperings
From old friends of haunts past;
I hear such things… unfathomable news,
Which, in other cases would provoke sympathy;
Which shouldn’t (but does)
Purvey a strange satisfaction.
These troubadours sang often of sorrows invading The Group;
Betrayals deep, jiltings, disorders obese.
Though, to look at them now
Holding up the well-painted façade
They seem almost normal.
Almost, for ‘normal’ can be bought;
It can be made with a well-paid knife,
Sculpted, molded, drained of fat;
Hiding the disappointing blights.
These things I perceive even in a simple photograph,
The arrangement of a few, choice words in a Bio.
The psychology does not escape me:
For all this, happiness eludes them.
I confess such knowledge does not cheer me.
But, it quenches a long-glowing ember,
Something akin to revenge.
Slight and repressed well by my better thoughts it died long ago.
I chose to forget, to ignore;
There is no need to drag them forth for shaming.
Seems they did this themselves, and rather well.
Better than I would have been able.
Their pursuit for peace, for love
'Twill continue lifelong.
I doubt they will find either one.
They chose long ago the path of Infliction…
And from such Serenity hides.
An easy decision for me:
Continue on as if they never existed.
Enjoy instead knowledge unrivaled,
Brilliance untapped,
Companionship unfailing,
Loving children with shining eyes.
All in a realm that Those From Before
Will never see nor feel.
I sit in my garden, thinking and writing;
Even now a small amount of pity oozes from old, assuaged scars.
I smile;
The breeze here is cool, the sunlight glancing.
There is no room for regret,
For woes.
Perhaps as Chaucer did
I can ‘put them in a tale’.
Tis not a bad idea,
For, on occasion I run short on villains.
An unfortunate ending for them, but just.
I shall revel on
In the bliss which bars them out;
And such is the sweetest vengeance of all.
