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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required "My Stranger" Part 2 - My friend, you think I'm deranged, And right you just may be. But, I just found his prison, And I must set him free. So, let me be as I search for the key That releases the lock on his cell. And, after his bail I'll wait to find If with him I'm meant to dwell. You say it was just imagination, My "Stranger" is not real. I was a mere dream, just a dream, And no sorrow should I feel. Yes I agree, a dream is not real, But, the person I call Stranger is. All I must do, is find the "who" I know, With qualities like his. "Now I must think, and you must go." You turn to me as a smile you show. For unseen reasons my mind now slows. Reminders of him from you give glow. I freeze in time. Deja vu. I try to call you back, But, no sound gets through my lips to you. There was a time when my one wish, Was to help my elusive Stranger. To lead him from his solitude. To shield him from the dangers. But, now my only hope and dream, Is in your thoughts to linger. For you to be happy, And in your joy, to see me ever clearer. You don't yet know what I do now, That you and my Stranger are one. But, if you read the language my body speaks, You would see that my hopes for you supass the distance of the sun. I try to hide it, But if you looked deeply, You would see, There within me, There's a pride for you the burns with intensity. If in my eyes you were to gaze, Just beyond the misty haze, Through all the green hues that are laced, There's an adoration for you that lays, That grows stronger with every hour of my days. Though, I know you'll never look. No, you'll never look to see, These burnings are fed, No matter how deep I push them inside me. So, I take the pain, The heat within, Because you're worth it, Stranger, Dearest Friend. And, to endure, I speak things simple and plain. Better yet, I sit here, think of you, And watch for rain. Rain to cool the flames that dart. Rain to fuel my poet's heart. For water inspires, and writing is art. These words cannot be spoken, For fear that you would hear. But, they cannot be held inside. They would be food for the flames to sear. In place of my tears, these foolish words flow. Onto soggy paper of trees they go. Until the day that you will know, When these words themselves in speech will show. Until that day, only hear will my words flow. My Stranger grows stranger, As he finds he holds my key. Will I be crushed? Or to him will I cling?
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