There once lived a poor man in a grand hall. Many wondered why he lived there when he was poor, thinking they deserved such luxury more than he. They noticed he never went to work, and so he was unemployed, a freeloader and consumer of their dues to the state. Many people were enraged by this man, but they were all young, and they didn’t understand what the man had done for them or for anyone. In their eyes, he had never done anything but live the high life on their hard earned gold and silver. In reality this man was out every day, observing the love and wonder in the world, while he remained alone in his grand hall, watching as people became friends and family, and the experiences they shared, and how they became tied to one another, while he could have none of it. He had sacrificed his potential experience with people for material possessions. And so he was not poor of money, poor of faith, or poor of privilege, he was poor of friends. As a child, he was raised from humble beginnings, but he always worked hard, staying up late, sacrificing his social interactions for success. No one would be with him when he struggled up the funds as a young man, working day and night to get a big house, and the best furniture. However, in his haste, he had forgotten to think of the people, the oh so skilled people around him with their silver tongues and tables of brothers, while he tried in his advanced age, only managing to spit out lead and be filled with spite. He wanted anyone to be with him dearly, but he had pushed everyone away, and all he had left was his grand hall. Where he wandered, for years, alone, and unable to build bonds. And as the young people who had never known his struggle closed in on him with their torches and pitchforks, he cried a tear of relief.