Juxtaposition

Am I a lesser man, if you see a tear rolling down my age lined face? You cant possible see the small, hard, electric lump that threatens to choke and crack my voice. The one that sends chills to the very core of my soul, rolling ever outward in the span of a single heartbeat. This signal, for the mans man to hide eternally in his illusion of strength, only to make him hold back in hopes of another stereotypical image, wearing the forlorn mask of hardness. The one society deems as accepted. But if the lesser man allows his true emotions to bear evidence, is he now, not the greater man? For in him is the power to be able to control both sides of the equation. Isn’t the lesser man the one who fails to understand that perhaps, in a tear, you will see the unblemished reflection of that which would inspire. Is a tear such a hard price to pay, for the clarity and knowledge, to strip the illusions of imperfections forever limiting the other man? Daily I live this paradox. Damned if I do, Damned if I don’t.