Proper Man

A good man, strong man, solid, proud man is a thinking man.

He thinks, and spends much of his time lost in a world like this one, only extrapolated off into its virtues and vices.

He takes long stares off into the void and lets his mind just go loftily into the emptiness, knowing full well the full bear it has to give.

A good man doesn't have much, in the way of the world.

Its often a man like this left to live longing and low like the pauper or the clown.

He doesn't spend his time in pursuit of the riches that we can touch, what little he chases might often wind up the riches to be drunk.

And why not? What lofty ambitions these fools do miss as the nights cool air rides high above the fog. To go there, to seek it, to breathe it in pure and fresh and clean. To drink merry, be Rosy, meet a sweet young lady and dime.

A good man leaves her in the morning, knowing full well the awful circle of woe that beseeches him, all good men and faith, simply by nature of the two types chasing.

Knowing not what would come but only what might have been, it is a safer place, safer then the hard and harsh of it all. The reality he ponders in long stares into the void.

A proper man, that one. Fit.

Shit man, they don't know the half of it.