My Wifes Husband

My Wife’s Husband

My wife’s husband was a good man, a strong man.  Being a man of degree and impact, little managed to intimidate him, and if it did, you would never read it in him.   In times of desperation, he was a safe haven for many as he was a rock of fortitude and pillar of patience and understanding.  He could hear any who spoke and rejected few, but when he did, it was from a right heart.  He was not the most intelligent, yet was surprisingly well read.  His friends were numbered in the hundreds and could be seen with millionaires as easily as with the homeless.  His view of the world was very austere and always hopeful for a better future.  He was not rich but managed to generate money when it was needed.  He was rugged enough to be considered a “man’s” man, yet cried easily.  He was, that which his father, being a kind, considerate, thinking, manly man, had crafted him to be. He was a good husband and father and easily seen as an asset in his world.

Then one-day things changed.

My wife’s husband is a mean man, a weak man.  Being a man of a small degree and impact, all he saw intimidated him, and if it didn’t, it was only because he hadn’t seen it yet.  In times of desperation, he could be found in a corner of his mind crying.  Those in need often saw him as a desperate stretch of a man; he was an anchor on a sinking ship.  He could only hear his own pathetic voice and was only able to offer criticism cooked over a flame of jealousy.  All that flowed from his was from a broken and confused spirit.  His friend could only be found in the mirror, and there he only saw someone he despised.  His view of the world was always putrid; laced with the knowledge that no good thing rested there for him.  The homeless looked down upon the wretched creature he had become.  He was a poor man who could offer no good thing for his family.  He had no backbone, and could only be characterized as a sore to be hidden from view.  His father would weep if he could see him now.  His words would beg, “Whose son is this creature?”

All that once was, is no longer and all that is, has no reason or direction.  The portrait of life, on the surface beckons one to adore and want more of that which is easily seen, that which offers beauty. On the reverse, is the wooden frame and dull canvas only showing the stains of a life that once was.