The Shape of a Man

 The Shape of a Man

In the quiet company of a whirling fan
I wonder what kind of man I am.
Callous, heartless and a petty breed
are at the roots of the family seed.

As I sit alone here in the darkness before the day's breaking
I wonder if I invest more in others than what I'm taking.
I think about honor and redemption from sin
Along with what is broken being forged again.

One said I hurt her with my opinions
Saying her views on a matter are stone
Drawing lines of hypocritical dominion
when my counter thoughts are thrown

She claims my thoughts belittle hers
When we clearly just disagree.
The line separating idea and identity blurs
An she proclaims there is a monster in me

I care that she was hurt by the exchange,
But were my words the thing that hurt her?
Could it be an issue already in range
That pushed a sensitivity a little further

Sometimes I question in search of reasoning
But what is perceived is abrasive seasoning.
I want to know the structural integrity of a view worth sharing
And I often find that there is nothing there of any bearing.

Am I a tyrant pushing children into the mud,
Or a gardener nurturing a maturing bud?
Am I a bully for exposing an ignorance
in an attempt to inspire a greater sense?

Emotions cloud logic creating fallacy
Yet staunch logic without heart spurns lunacy.
Balance in both are truly needed,
As I think I come across a bit conceited.

Do I sit here alone filled with self doubt?
Over analytical with a satirical pout ?
I sit and I wonder what  kind of man that I am
skimming over the pages of the man I have been.