Son of Samuel

It reeked upon entering Like nothing i'd smelled before thinking about it now renders my Bloodhound to a Washout. There we stood, waiting on what? Nurses in casual clothing pranced by the one-couch room I was staring at my Pop-Pop's white and blue's The one with the emblem on the Back and Lapel. A man appeared, being escorted by one of these "Nurses" When my eyes fixated on him He looked like a man with a rough face, weathered. But actions began speaking louder than my observations. Such an immature grown-up, I thought, Playing with toys too young for even me. Mother and grandparents treated him as an infant, though no cradle could hold. They sat and spoke of Michaelangelo While he and I were on similar wavelengths Which I liked. They spoke of him before and how "Special" he was, and being a child, I had no idea of the "special" they spoke of. "Special" to them meant different, beyond the realm of the accustomary norm. I recall his strength to have been alien, if not super-human. Shook hands like S.I.D.S. Needed a breaking stick just to loosen this mans grip He had no idea what he was or supposed to be. He was He. I was both scared and intrigued but too young for such dialect I never saw the man again But i remember our eyes met. And they had a dialogue of their own hello. goodbye. and at the end of our visual conversation I knew he was of my blood.