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