He lived a quiet life
washed his socks in the sink
strew his crumbs about like
everybody else
and tried to keep himself clean
One day
when he was quite finished being a young man
he came upon a book
from which
words poured forth to him
into him
surrounding him
He soon lost it and could never
remember the title
But the words became a part of
him
And he began to use them
secretly, only
secretly
For the magic in such words was too strong to share among
the weak and mortal population
though he was no
Akhenaton
He had never caused a revolution
or caused any of his hands or
those of other to be raised
in either joy or anger
and when he passed out of this world no one noticed he was
gone
or asked after him
He seemed a transparent person
a wonderwall
that no one cared to breach
His name was quickly forgotten by the postman by the dentist by the doctor by his employer
He left no children behind
His job was had been so unimportant that his assistant took it over while he was still performing it as it did not need to be taught and soon the assistant began to think he had always done it alone
While no one would have believed it he wished for this erasal
To be so forgotten would have given him an ultimate happiness
And so it was easy to forget this man whose tastes were utterly boring
of which there was nothing to remark upon
Even as he had done in his daily life he did in death
New people came and removed his meager belonging and were surprised to find
jewels
gold
silver
the mighty and the superficial
the bright and the dull
of all patterns and colours and textures and beauty and repulsion
containing more wealth than Pharaoh himself
He had lived an ordinary space of years
in an orderly fashion
of unimpressionable effect
Like all who went before
And so many after
He had collected a treasure
Some might say
He’d found some interesting words
that’s all
Those who chanced upon them hid them away for
they knew that it was enough
to raise him to the level
of a
small but mighty
god
