The Stranger
It was on Queen Street
Auckland, we mystically met.
I hurried past up hill
to swiftly change in hotel room.
I felt presence reach
out, as I rapidly pasted.
I stopped; to glance around.
What had arrested motion?
This unknown man would be
singular alone anywhere.
We looked searching out secrets
deep within each others eyes.
Dressed he was in shielding travel stained
clothes of youth's pilgrims who travel.
Seeking an answer to impelling souls.
Moths ever magnetically magically drawn on.
It was on Queen Street, in my beloved Auckland,
in Aotearoa New Zealand, we mystically met.
Late, I hurried past, up hill,
to swiftly change in hotel room.
For chance meeting, finding a friend,
just earlier arrived from home.
Meant night out about town, companionship,
catch-up conversation, at hastily arranged dinner.
I felt previously unencountered presence,
reach out; as I rapidly pasted.
I stopped; to searchingly; glance around.
What had arrested time pressed motion?
Saw a solitary figure, sitting alone,
upon a particularly, insignificant park bench.
Seconds taken, seize, reclaim reality,
readjust, focus. Was drawn impulsively near.
This apparently normal, at surface appearance,
unknown man; would be; singular; alone; anywhere.
We looked, searching out secrets, deep
within each others prophetic mirror eyes.
Parallels ran a similar, disturbing, mutable course.
Haunting pain was preternaturally echoed. Spirit evasively
painstakingly broken. Need heightens twin souled fleeting
communion comfort. Mind knew. Hoped for mesmeric love.
Dressed he was in typical shielding travel stained
clothes of youth's pilgrims who progressively travel.
Seeking an answer to scented balm impelling souls.
Moths ever magnetically irrevocably drawn on.
Into distant heartfelt healing hellebore future.
Excommunicating shadow. Vortex beginning. Perishing.
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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