The Counting of Murmurs

The whispers began to build— A reckoning of voices meant to dismantle his flawed claim.
"Mr. Fox, look around you." "In this gathering, only one person does not oppose your words." "Now, do you permit us to exile you To the new village we promised at the beginning?"
Mr. Fox turned toward the only observer Who had not spoken against him.
With desperation, he pleaded: "Master, you know everything." "Please, say something— I do not belong there."
He trembled, his voice breaking into a cry: "Master, it was by your decree That I could use my eyes without glasses, That I could sit upon a wooden chair at dusk, Humming childhood songs until the moon arrived." "And now— For the mere act of witnessing the most beautiful moment of life, You place me on trial?" "It is not right for me to be exiled!" "Mr. Fox, look at yourself—" "You are weak now. But there, you will become strong. One day, You will stand in judgment, Holding this very seat." Tears streamed down his face. Once more, he turned to the silent observer:
"These fools know nothing." "They do not understand— That for me, A thousand new villages, A seat of judgment itself, Could never replace a single second of watching the sunset."
"They do not know That the sunset flows within your eyes— And nowhere else Will I ever find it again."
"These ignorant ones fail to grasp That power cannot grant everything— That absolute perfection Is meaningless Before the smallest experience of a fleeting moment."
"Mr. Fox, You are not in a position To define values." "You do not even know them— How can you judge them?"
For the first time, A single tear fell from the observer’s eye. Without a word, He left the chamber.
Mr. Fox fell silent.
Only tears remained, Flowing freely.
He stared at the door— The same door the observer had passed through— As if he could swallow its path, Take in the direction of his departure.
No one Except the two of them Knew the only truth that remained—
That in the end, His own words had been the only thing truly flowing, And that the mistaken theory of perfection Had erased him from memory.