This Man’s Work

 

If we wear the hats of our heroes, we will never wear our own. - cjf

 

Not many have ever heard of me, yet I’ve been here all along, few have read my words or listened to my songs. Thus I deem that it will be, I the unknown, another troubadour singing to himself. This man’s work throughout his life piled high, filling dust-filled shelves. When my remains become part of the earth and days turn into years, someone may proclaim my work as valid as all of my peers. A lot of good any such proclamation does me later, but inspires me here to write. It makes no difference to be unknown; it is neither wrong nor right. As an unknown, I am an entirely new person to someone who doesn’t know I exist, conversely nor do I know of them, such a perfect tryst.