WALKING ON WATER…Why Do People Only Believe in What They See?

Frozen in thought, strolled the onyx cloak that trailed silently in silver smoke;
Strayed the simple folk and this mystery of history began to slowly choke.
He observed a puddle to his left, walked to it with no mischief, small steps,
Sorrow’s sign borrowed from the abyss like this twisted kiss of treble clefs.
Music resonated from his chest, shards of past arts and shadows encased in,
The melodies in the making, perhaps the most momentous of this occasion.
He stretched sore limbs and let sore eyes rest briefly, then stepped in water,
snared fear of darkness cast upon a soul of this reflected heaven’s daughter.

He turned behind him, facing the laces of the pink frilly dress and tresses,
and in rhythm the music vibrated through the case of their emotions bested.
“Greetings,” he muttered, the sounds of snow and blizzards softly echoing,
the small motion from parched lips barely audible over that wind’s bellowing.
She waved timidly, friendly in her appearances but maintaining a hard gaze,
and he allowed a grin to settle upon the ancient nightmare that was his face.
“Do people fear you?” She asked, the very vessel emanating its innocence,
with a permanent debating and the eternal questions reeking of an infinite.

“Yes they do, young one, what do you do on this day that remains so dim?”
With signs of arthritis he turned around with a twitch of his disfigured limbs.
For the satisfaction of her whims, she danced and pranced in jovial loops,
The rings in which she moved signifying the depth of her questions, but
the old man ignored this,
for the answers were not meant for her adolescence and her defining light,
and the refusal of response he presented made his shoulders sag, but to her delight
a response formed upon the white crescents around the bringer of wisdom,
tracing the aftermath of ruins and of the desert had been his lonely kingdom.

“You’re a funny man, you know that? I’m here to reshape the morning’s frown.”
The cloaked one gave the fey girl a glance of misunderstanding, raising a brow.
“You mean to say you want to make a day brighter, is that how all kids speak?”
As the mysterious and morbid man wringed his hands, she moved so he could drink.
“What, do you expect me to sip from that puddle?” “No, this is really a lake,
what reason have you to doubt me? Does trouble seem to lay in your wake?”
“So what you mean is, that you believe something and it can happen? Like fate?”

“What do you think that is the most probable of chances? For I say it is not wrong,
but at the same time it’s not right. But if you go down long enough, you rise, see?”
He chuckled in amusement, as he’d never been as confused and convinced to believe.
“I still don’t understand your meaning, and I don’t understand your complicated mind.”
A bind formed between them, and only then he could tell that this young girl was blind.
He sighed, and whispered of her deformity, but she said she was no different at all,
So to this little girl he understood her predicament, and so dragged a small box to her,
Having taken it from a damp corner and wiping away stray sticks and stones.

“Let me make this as formal as possible.” Here he cleared his throat,
and began his preparations, then spoke: “’tis but a box of few books.”
Here he was given by the fey girl a very strange look, but he smiled.

“These are books, but how am I to read?”
“It is simple…all you must do is believe.”

She felt so elated, like angels, and dared believe like Jesus she could Walk on the Waters of Understanding.