Seen but unseen
Saw but saw through
Noticed but not recognized.
Such is the life of The Invisible Man
A creature who falls into the background
Never resides in the foreground of people’s perception
Because visibility is in the eyes of the beholder
And it’s hard to see what you do not know
And do not wish to know.
Invisibility is only a superpower until you have it.
It’s a power but it is not super.
It is a curse, to walk city ways and street corners
Under bright headlights and skyscrapers
To hike peaks, skate lakes, dive depths
To fail, to falter, to struggle, to tear
To accomplish, to succeed, to achieve, to aspire
And know all too well no one saw any of it
Because your dreams feel foolish to them
And your fears make them uncomfortable
But perhaps most of all
You scare them.
You are a scarecrow, an intimidating shroud
Built to protect but mistaken for an assailant
And they’re even more frightened when you take off the mask
Because the truth is often more terrifying than the lies.
The mask stays on and you go through life a bystander
Rather than an active member
A technical participant
But not one anyone recollects.
Voyages at masquerade parties bring brief relapses of enjoyment
Slides across the dance floor in a banquet hall with granite columns and crystal chandeliers
Dramatic dresses and pompous palettes
But eventually, the night ends and the act is over.
The curtains draw
And everyone returns to their daily lives
Honestly themselves
Leaving the Scarecrow in his thoughts
Knowing, unlike everyone else, his mask must stay on.
People do not just not see The Invisible Man
They do not hear him.
He is not just invisible. He is unheard, unknown.
Invisibility is all-encompassing
And there is no length he can go to escape it
No phrase to break the spell
No test of wills.
What scares them the most is how different he is
And different has never been celebrated, only ostracized.
It is never welcomed or sought out.
It is forewarned.
There is no alteration he can make to himself to change that.
He can be loud or quiet, abrasive or malleable
But who he is at his core
That cannot be changed
And so neither can his reality.
Thousands of people passed and seen by none.
Decades lived and never viewed
A cassette from another era never spun.
Melodies, harmonies and ballads played but never heard
A lonely pianist at the keys but no ballroom audience
Not a one.
If a song is played with no listening ears,
Was it ever played at all?
A novel penned without a reader ever written?
Art is given purpose, message and value by its recipients, not its creator
And so is life.
A life unknown is a life wasted.
wordsofwistim 