Human: You, Man, is Flawed.

"Richard Cory" is a poem written by Edwin Arlington Robinson. The titular character seemed to have it all, the luxury and all the fortune that anyone would want to have. Still, he shot himself dead.

Reasons for Cory's deadly deed were not given and were just left for the reader's perception. However, if we would put some clarity to it, one possible justification was that Richard Cory was just human, like all of us. Even with all of the luxury and fortune he had, life was not complete as he wished it could have been.

It was easy to recall the story of that poem because it was adapted into a song by musicians/songwriters Simon and Garfunkel into a song. It still had the same tragedy that the poem had, also in the POV of someone who envied the life of Richard Cory.

However, a remarkable difference made in the song was the effect that the final chorus had on the song. The chorus went "But I work in his factory, and I curse the life I'm living, I curse my poverty, oh, I wish that I could be Richard Cory" and it was given another shot even after the event of Richard Cory taking his own life. 

This part of the song spoke of another human flaw that most of us seem to have: the act of looking over at someone else's graces without looking into the flip side of the coin.

People who envied the life of Richard Cory saw the brighter side while neglecting whatever could be lurking on the opposite side. Little did they know that Richard Cory had a great amount of uncertainty which ultimately led to his demise. 

At times of despair and uncertainties, it couldn't be helped to resort to the thought of having the life of someone else. However, it should not linger so much it would turn into something that couldn't, or shouldn't, be realized.

Look beyond your shoulders only to be inspired by your neighbor's triumphs. Better yet, be an inspiration to those who would look over at your exploits. Also, always seek for true happiness. 

Below is Edwin Arlington Robinson's "Richard Cory".

Richard Cory

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,

We people on the pavement looked at him:

He was a gentleman from sole to crown,

Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,

And he was always human when he talked;

But still he fluttered pulses when he said,

"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich – yes, richer than a king –

And admirably schooled in every grace:

In fine, we thought that he was everything

To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,

And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;

And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,

Went home and put a bullet through his head.

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