The Stranger
The face of a stranger
An unknown man
Timeless in his appearance
Signifying an absence of time
The reality of who he really is
Where does he live
What is it that he does in the morning
And the afternoon, and the evening
Not to mention the night
The utter darkness of the night
What does this stranger do
In the darkness
But eventually he is strewn into the light
Where he still escapes
Identity
From everyone around
No one knows who this stranger is
So unique is his form
A trench coat
A lit cigarette
All of who he is obscured
Where does the reality go
When he is around
Time stops as he stands
Time seems to go away
As he waits for someone
In the shadows
As if the darkness is meant
Just for him
In obscurity
He masterminds the ways
Of the chameleon
And lets only the burn of his cig
Show us, partially, his face
Who is he
This man of the night
Of the shadows
Of an unknown origin
Why is he standing
Under this particular tree
Waiting
For something, anything to happen
But alas
Nothing comes but the night
And he still stands there
As if frozen in time
Waiting for someone to come
But they never arrive
He looks frail
Under the shadows
Bits of light hit him square in the eye
His stare is hollow
Like he fears something has happened
To whoever he is waiting on
One day he’s gone
Just a pile of cigarette butts
Remain on the ground
Where he once stood
Stoic
And hard-lined
He became a fixture to the spot
Always there
Waiting on someone
Who never came
In the night
Russell Sivey
Copyright © Russell Sivey | Year Posted 2017
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