Crooked Wisdom

Tired and weary, I reached the end of my Path,
And there stood a crooked man leaning on a crooked staff.
He gave me two options: Remember or Forget.
"But," said he, "I have advice, if you would only permit..."

Reluctantly I nodded, looking into his eyes,
Somehow knowing that there lived no man as wise.
He tilted his head, crookedly, to speak,
And all he said was this: Memories make a man weak.

Pondering, I sat to think about his tiny speech,
Knowing there was a great lesson that he was trying to teach.
And suddenly I could recall every crushed, broken day,
Lost because my memory would continue to replay.

"Of course," I thought, "there is truth in what he had said.
If mistakes could be forgotten, regrets would leave my head.
Forgetting all I have ever learned, would make me unafraid,
But if my mind was clear of fears, wouldn't ignorance pervade?"

Using a crooked finger, the crooked man beckoned,
"Now you must choose, the first or the second?"
Standing tall and straight, to contrast the man,
I found inside my answer and quite simply I began,

"Memories make a man weak, that I know is true,
But that's the incorrect choice--you gave me a crooked clue.
To forget would indeed make me undoubtedly strong,
But at the price of the lessons learned from all I've done wrong."

The man's smile was crooked, as he let me finish speaking,
"If we all choose to remember, maybe wisdom we'll start seeking."
He spoke, "My friend you have made a choice full of pain,
But if you've chosen to remember, you'll never be inane.

"For remembering your mistakes, and the lessons that you reap
Will strengthen you in new ways, though your heart may sometimes weep."
Sweeping a crooked hand, a new path suddenly appeared,
Now centuries later I'm a crooked man--my wisdom revered.