The Boy Behind the Man

The boy behind the man
Followed the man ahead
Chasing down fearfulness,
Erasing tearfulness,
Be your own man, he said.

The boy inside the man
Walked with the man who led
Wearing his laurels,
Baring his morals,
His heart while silently bled.

The boy beyond the man
Turned back on all he had tread,
The warmth of a home,
No frontier to roam,
Longed for his cabin’s soft bed.

An older man, walking stick in hand, walks along a frontier trail – perhaps once again westward to new adventures or perhaps just for a daily jaunt a mile down the way. The man’s weathered and worn expression betrays only one certainty. He has been on the move for some time; If not of late on his feet, surely his mind has resurveyed all the places he has been over the years. His Indian beads, monogrammed pouch, fancy tasseled red sashes, and even the feather on his walking stick: all are the unique trophies he has acquired along his manhood journey to self-expression and independence. He is his own man.  A young boy, fresh, unmade, seemingly follows behind in quiet admiration. In the distant clearing, a cabin with wash hung outside is seen. Surely, the boy is not far from home, or is he? The old man’s wearisome expression reveals yet another boy – the ‘boy’ inside the man, still longing for the comforts and love of a home that somehow was lost to his quest for manhood. And “the boy behind the man”, while soon to return home, has never quite left the scene.