Stranger of the night
The autumn leaves waltz to the strains of the night,
The aging woods murmur with stories untold.
As the city shakes the last vestiges of daylight,
I linger on the benches like a wraith of the old.
A silent sentinel, each night I scry
The trickle of humans who pass me by;
The whispers of their lives, a battered anchor;
That grounds me, in a world torn asunder.
Each one sways to the strings of their lives;
And for me to touch, would be to sin.
So as a lonely serf, I ghost over the waters,
When a shadow whispers across my skin.
The trickle of humans still pass us by;
Yet neither looks at the stranger so nigh.
Two souls captive in worlds of their own,
With the solace of wind gently blowin’.
Silence swirls like the cloak of a friend;
Yet the touch of your being does comfort lend.
I slay the words fluttering in my soul
And with a weary heart, away I stroll.
The trickle of humans still pass me by
On the next eve, where I linger and scry.
The world seems same, though not quite,
As the shadow of your absence haunts my night.
Footsteps echo and fade,
While I wait for the treads of you.
As I chide this absurd hope within,
Your shadow whispers across my skin
And I smile.
Photo courtesy: Google