The stranger entered through the gate
He walked down Crimson Street
He stopped, and all around him wait
He heard the ceasing feet
The stranger said, “All who are near
Gather, hear my cry
I have an elixir here
Drink, and never die”
The people looked at him and thought,
“This man must be lost”
Then one said, “Can it be bought?
How much does it cost?”
The stranger said “The price
Is lower than you’d think
The requirements are concise
Quite simply, drink”
The people said “This can’t be true!
Surely it is fake!
He cannot bring us immortality
If we simply partake”
“Hear me, please!” he cried aloud
The people stared in despise
He was swept up by the crowd
Violence met his eyes
The curtain of mercy we will today
Over this scene bring down
It sufficeth me to say
They chased him out of town
Outside the city gate he sobbed
And wrung his beaten hands
He was bruised, abused, robbed
So he went to a different land
Fifty years, few more had passed
Until he returned again
He hadn’t aged, this old outcast
Though he lacked a single friend
The people, old and weary now,
From fifty years and five,
Saw his face and shouted, “How!
“How is he still alive?”
“The elixir” he said, his voice soft
And trembling with pain
He thought of these people oft
Though they thought him insane
For their frail bodies he could not
Help but shed a tear
They refused before, and now they rot
And still death they fear
Their shaking voices he heard
And his heart did sink
“It’s so simple,” the man whispered,
“They only had to drink”
How slow we are to trust the purest forms of truth.