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Ambika Jois Nov 2015
All these days
I thought I was fated
Challenged against my will
To gain the trust of strangers
Strangers who turn into friends
Friends who turn into lovers
Lovers who turn heartbroken

I don’t bow my head to their feet
I bow down way beneath
To offer this trust
In desperation to be trusted
With the impression that trust happens on the outside.

While I feed my soul to the world outside
While I feed myself an understanding
That strangers turn into friends,
I am blinded away from my world on the inside.
Those I always know are my own
Become more transparent than invisibility
Those I take for granted as my own,
Become the strangest of strangers.

While I chisel and chisel away
I shape strangers into friends
Friends into lovers
Until I carve a bit too deep into the stone
Realizing a little too late its fragility
Lovers turn broken hearted
And I fall

And there they appear all over again
My very own strangers
They reappear
With love
They disappear again
With strangeness
Yet only they appear again
And again

Godsend, these strangers are
They let me walk away from them
They let me befriend
They let me love
They let me hurt and get hurt
They let me fall
They watch me fall

Yet they appear,
Only to pick me up again
To hold me with grip
To be my crutch, my wheel and my horn
To be the strangers I first opened my eyes to
To be the strangers who showed me friendship
To be the strangers who taught me love
To be the strangers whose hearts are too strong to break
To be the strangers I call,
My family.
Gaye Sep 2015
We stood in front of my grandmother’s
Old almirah, facing each other
The peacock feather and empty bags  
Of the square room fell silent all over again,
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

Then they all came, marched in, reflections,
Paraded in like martyrs of Brute’s History.
I knew them all, she knew them too
They came, touched us one by one,
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

She looked confused just like me
Watching life pass by, centuries reuniting
After a very long season break, nations-
Travelled, explorers stood upstairs watching,
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

Streets strapped the coffee cans and middle-
Aged hospitals swallowed wars. Married women
Bend over like animals and in months, unable
To breathe they gave birth to few number plates;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

The city vomited battles, human heads
And dreams of muted foul slaves. Men and-
Their violent tradition screeched for blue number-
Plates, lean number plates, handsome number plates;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

Unexploded bombs bounced happy homes,
My brothers, my kids, my mothers
Blew their windows and ran, ran away,
Ran afar without destination;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

They were all dark, their land was darkness
Or were we all blind?
Like a watchman we preserved darkness,
The vapours that filled their glasses did not speak;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

We are all reflections, ripples and mirrors
Of men-dead and living.
They all stood outside my almirah, million faces
Inside a mirror. She did recognize them;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

She did nothing, an unusable empathy rolled in,
The hypocrite did not even cry.
In quiet hours she smelt pain, blood and
History flowing from confronting corners;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

An insignificant obligation drowned her nerve,
They needed a home, candle flame, cotton and wool.
The land, their land has become unfamiliar
And they stood outside locked gates and laws;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

They all smelt the same blood, the abused blood,
I tried to kiss them and they kissed me back with-
Their cold lips. I tried to touch them, they touched-
Me back with water in their eyes;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
katarina Jan 2018
Isn't this strange?
Two strangers touching strangers skin
Your fingers glide over my expansive flesh
Raising goosebumps where they left

Doesn't this feel good? You say,
Two strangers touching strangers skin
Yes it does, I whisper
As we try to wrap our bodies closer

You cling to me
Two strangers touching strangers skin
We breathe together, gazes locked
I love yous should be on our lips

But we only just met
Two strangers touching strangers skin
Perhaps we simulate the stranger,
The one we wish we were really with

Your skin is a glow in warm yellow light
Two strangers touching strangers skin
Careful of the romantics of your body in candlight
After all, we were strangers at the beginning of the night.
#strangers #skin #strangersskin #romantic #candlelight #warmth
Ottis Blades Dec 2009
Our lives intertwined in the most intricate of ways
You gave me life and uplifted my soul
I would like to believe I did for you the same
I gave you my eyes and I gave my all
you became the blood that ran through my veins
but in between the laughter and our intoxicating love
something was lost along the way
we stopped talking about the future and growing old
and before the sun could set on us we parted ways.

Now we are two more strangers in a world full of them
just two more strangers that life leaves behind
while I stayed in love, you began to wonder if you ever was
and you question how much I loved you
when it was right there in front of you to see.
Why couldn't you see? Honey, why couldn't you see?
that life became insignificant the moment you left
and it didn't matter the things you did I still loved you the same.



Now we are two more strangers that barely know each other
just two more strangers pulled apart by the passage of time
drifting farther away in the sea of lost love
we are becoming a distant memory with the years
this couch will never know you were here
but this bed holds your essence like yesterday
two more strangers that once shared the same bed
two more strangers that shared the same toothbrush
and one breath.

Now I have seen you again and it's like I don't know who you are
your voice rings familiar but it's almost like
I am meeting you for the first time
wearing the sad smile of acceptance along
with those nostalgic eyes
our lips can still taste one another
and yet they tremble in fear
without saying what they want
because the words won't come out right
we often wonder what would had happened
if we had stuck it out yesteryear
but we have become two more strangers
that walk away in opposites
in insufferable melancholy,
two more strangers that barely know each other.
Brianna Duffin Aug 2017
It’s gotten to the point where she won’t speak to me
And I wouldn’t speak to her if she did
Already once I’ve tried only to be ignored
And I have decided I really won’t try again
It’s gotten to the point where I don’t want to see her
Not how I have no interest in hanging out
The point that I do not want to be around her
And she acts like she never sees me anyway

And yet there is not ill will
I bear none, I detect none
I want none, but I don’t know about her

She doesn’t care about me at all
And I really can’t say I care for her
What are we then
Not friends or enemies or strangers
Or are we strangers again
Can we be strangers again
After all this time, purely nothing
Not a thing to each other
I think I’d like that
Or maybe I’d hate it
Maybe both, I don’t know
But I do understand
That something we worked so hard to build
Shows no sign of itself nowadays
So it appears we are strangers again
Well, I suppose there’s a bittersweet tinge
To knowing it and feeling it

I wish I could see with new eyes
I wish I could remember what it looked like
I wish I could see what they do
I wish I could figure out what it is they see
When they look at me and find nothing

Because now it seems we are just strangers,
Complete strangers when we pass by each other,
Complete strangers when a friend needs another friend,
Complete strangers now for better or for worse.
Audrey Parent Apr 2015
You and I have been
Strangers
Then we were
Friends
and soon we became
Lovers
But we fought
and you
lost all hope of loving me
so now we are
Strangers.
Her and I were
Strangers
which turned into
Friends
then
Best Friends
but that too soon returned to
Strangers.
I have seen to many people start off as
Strangers
turn into something more, then return to
Strangers.
So all I can do is hope that I will meet a
Stranger
and become
Friends
then maybe
Lovers
and stay that way for infinity.
But with my past record,
we too would become
Strangers.
maxx lopez Aug 2013
strangers.
thats all we were.
destined strangers.
destined to meet.
destined to laugh.
destined to touch.
destined to love.
destined to hurt.
destined to love again.
this was our destiny.
but the funny thing is,
destiny tested us from day one.
the cafe you sit at everyday
is the same cafe i drive by,
everyday.
the 20 story building you walk into everyday
is where i park my car,
everyday.
the days you visit the bookstore,
are the days i'm out for a run.
the days i visit the same bookstore,
are the days you walk your dog.
at 1:45 pm, you come into my bakery everyday.
from 1-2 in the afternoon is my lunch break,
everyday.
on the saturday you went to pick up a tux,
i was in the dressing room,
picking a dress.
friday, 3rd one of june,
was the day
you finally walked my way
and i walked yours.
you dressed in a smooth straight black suit.
and i dressed in lace, ribbon and chiffon.
all in white.
"Beautiful day, isn't it?"
i turned your way
and for the first time,
i met your eyes.
your eyes of caribbean blue.
"Yes, it is."
your smile
so warm and charming.
"i'd better get to my altar,
and i guess you better get to yours",
was the last thing
you ever said to me.
you walked away from my direction,
and i walked away from yours.
that day,
i said "I do",
and so did you.
but not to each other.
45 years past.
2 children.
3 grand children.
3 dogs.
1 divorce.
0 marriages afterwards.
all because of someone.
a man from 45 years ago.
he was my destiny
and i hope he knew too.
strangers are who we were.
strangers are who we are.
strangers are who we will always be.
destined strangers;
who will never see.
destined strangers;
you will just be you.
and i will just be me.
you and i will never
be the destined 'we'.
Mercury Chap Dec 2014
There are many strangers who came in my life
I don't know their name,
I don't know how they look like.
They are just blur faces
But their words are like graces.

I sometimes wonder how they look
I sometimes think of them
As characters in a book.

They are the ones
who take off my mind
from the depressing course of my life.

It isn't bad to know strangers,
As they say,
"Strangers are people you shouldn't trust
Don't talk to them or else you'll become become a prey."

Strangers can be good,
Strangers can be bad,
You want to be happy?
You talk to strangers
To make your life less sad.
I know there are many people who think that talking to strangers can be really dangerous. I am not saying I don't think like that but there are some people you know you can trust and strangers are the ones, no matter how bad they are in real life, who give you hope that you can be someone in your life. I know that most of the crimes are committed by strangers but people should know that they shouldn't reveal everything about themselves to others. I know this is a really controversial topic because of the crimes and all but not all strangers are bad. That's what I think. You are free to oppose me.
Two strangers pass both moving in seperate directions.

Eye's tell  the stories and give a glimpse like a windows from a highways view

view apon a cold night's drive.



Giving only a view of what seconds can make us belive.

Two eye's meet a vision of a story not worthy of the first

act of play.



Perfume apon the wind.

Her scent of jasmine blessed  a stale evenings breeze.

Two strangers pass speaking only a well ment hello

but nothing more.



Thoughts as they are give hope in a truely hopeless sense.

Two strangers pass then fade into there live's.

Never to meet again.



And with a times movement the moment does all but vanish

from thought.



Two strangers passed who once held each other as lover's

of secret with passion's covered in perfect dellusion.



This night two seperate directions set the stage of my lives eternal

traggic play.



Two strangers passed to give what once  burned so

very deep.

As fools these same two strangers gave it all away.
Rachel Sullivan Jul 2013
They are strange things; strangers.....
There are so many of them

Yet,  although these strangers are strange to me
To you they may be a friend

They are a strange species; these strangers
They overpopulate almost every place

Yet, they go about living similar lives of their own
Each one with a different story or face

Strangely, we are taught not to talk to strangers
And trained to avoid them

Yet, each one, whether strange or not,
Is, strangely enough, a person.

Strange is the way we feel about strangers
We fear them because we do not know them

Yet, these strangers are unknown to us
Because we choose not to know them

What strange mystery these strangers possess
Each one of them has a life,
A secret,
A past,
And a name
Just like us....

Yet, we label them as strange.

Yes, strange thing; these strangers

Yet,
The strangest strange
Is that, strangely enough,
We are all strangers.
Tinesha Garcia Feb 2011
Sipping moonlight on top of rain clouds
and pretending that it’s Saturday everyday.
Dancing strangers in the isles
Strangers dancing, drunk on love beams shot in the dark.
I’m disappointed in liquid star fall,
the little dancing shoes have no soul,
but ****, they have heart.
Crash and burn, strangers dancing, dancing strangers,
I hear a name and occupation.
Serious killers know no mercy
killing time and feel their temper running out, now.
Confused, they’re spun around and around now
Abused, they’re shot down and down now
Amused, they’ve shattered their masks, now.
We’re all prancing unknowns
strangers dancing, dancing strangers.
Amber Jade Dec 2011
Today we started over,
And it became easier for me to breathe,
It felt like i found a seven leaved clover,
I feel completely reprieved.

Now i can work at fixing things,
Instead of driving myself insane,
Thinking we'd never be the same,
And now that we are starting again,
I hope i can take back everything i said,
Let's act like i never liked you.

We were always perfect strangers,
And now we want to try and be friends.

Let's believe,
I didn't like you in that way,
I never said I love you,
You were never the one thing always on my mind,
And you have never made me cry,
Or ask myself why,
I've never lost myself in your eyes,
My heart never held a flame for you.

All of that never happened,
Because we were always perfect strangers.

I've never talked to you before,
I don't know you like 'Where every you will go by The Calling,'
I have no clue your favorite animal is a dog,
I don't know if you like purple,
Or if you like paramore.

Because we have never talked before,
We have always been perfect strangers.

And most important of it all,
You have never seen me,
At my worst,
The incident never happened,
We never had that problem.

Because you didn't see me,
And we are still perfect strangers.

Now my dear,
We have started again,
Strike up a conversation,
After all we are perfect strangers,
Who know what we'll find out,
We might fall after all,
But don't just sit there in silence,
Otherwise we might always be perfect strangers,
And i don't know a greater loss,
Then never getting to know an amazing stranger,
Like you....
pk tunuri Mar 2018
I wonder how we all have Known Strangers
We don't accept when people insist
But frankly, they do exist
I wonder how we all have Known Strangers

They once stood at your side
Now, They lie and hide
Even though they confide and cried
I wonder how we all have Known Strangers

All the thoughts of how'd they betray
All the happiness they took away
All the pain we suffer every day
All the crying they gonna repay
I wonder how we all have Known Strangers

Our pride may want them dead
But then a lot of things will be left unsaid.
I wonder how we all have Known Strangers
Akira Chinen May 2016
Strangers
We're all strangers
No matter how long
We know each other
Love each other
Wether its days or weeks or years
Of loving and fighting and *******
Spending our days of cold silence
And warm whispers together
Lonely nights in the same bed
And desperate longing when apart
Where just strangers
All of us
Married for years
Or stumbling through that first night
Of awkward first kisses and trembling hands
Strangers pretending to know more
And love more than we truthfully know how
Moaning names through the night and grumbling the daylight away
Just for that dreadful moment of false peace and happiness

None of us knowing anymore about anyone else than we know about ourselves
And we know nothing of ourselves
Faking the word
Pretending to feel

Unless you get lucky... not many do.  But theres a few rare gems out there that know  
The mad, the lunatics, those who refused the pill and choose the sickness
Those that would rather live ten million life times of anguish and torment just so they could feel one perfect moment of pure beauty and truth
Those seeking out the strange ones amongst the strangers
Those who do not pretend but know the how and dance with the why and its madness
Those that write their names across the clouds of heaven in stars blood
Those who kiss the angels and dance with demons
Those that have found each other life after life
Those who have swam through black holes
And walked on the surface of the sun just for that one moment to be together
That moment of beautiful  painful truth of love shared
Tangling body and heart and soul
Where they both become the singular heart beat of love resonating throughout the universe.  A sound that makes even the horizon of eternity shudder with pleasure.
I only knew strangers most of my life
A few strange ones here and there
And we had our moments
Of beauty and truth
But never a strange one like this
No nothing like this
In this one
I found that one perfect moment
That once in a lifetime love
And falling
And have fallen
To this mad mad love
For her
It is the honey gods are made of
https://youtu.be/6lu51WVRfmE
John Gabriel Oct 1
When I was a kid, my parents told me never to associate myself with strangers because they are bad people and would just do me harm instead of good. It was years later that I learned it was the opposite. How ironic it is that strangers would be more like my family and my family would be more like strangers to me. For it was strangers that gave me comfort when I was abused by my parents and my ex girlfriend. It was strangers that got me through my darkest episodes when I thought all was lost. It was strangers that showed me that life can be beautiful and be filled with good things. They helped me become a better man for myself and for the people around me. They supported me, helped me stand when all I wanted to do was lie down and give up. This group of people have done more for me than anyone could ever fathom. A stranger saved my life when my own parents could not. Thanks to them, I am better now and I am prepared to go further than they have gone for me because these "strangers" aren’t strangers, they are my friends and I love them.
To that stranger that saved me (you know who you are) thank you for giving me hope and strength. For showing me that life can be better. You will always have a special place in my heart.
Paras Bajaj Dec 2018
I took the high road
while you were catching a plane.
We didn't put efforts to decode
instead we became strangers again.

I took the yellow pills
while you were dancing in the rain.
We never climbed uphill
instead we became strangers again.

I took the therapy
while you were inside my brain.
We never resolved our issues
instead we became strangers again.

I disappeared into the thin air
cause' you never felt my pain.
We were never meant for each other,
that's why we became strangers again.

-Paras Bajaj #PoetrybyParas
Instagram : @mr.parasbajaj
Creep Jan 2015
Strangers on the Internet exchanging texts
Surfing different sites every night
What were the chances we'd be sharing love
Before the night was through

Something in your questions were so inviting
Something in your emojis were so exciting
Something in my heart told me I must have you

Strangers on the internet, two lonely people
We were strangers on the internet,
Up to the moment when I sent the first message

Little did we know
Love was just a text away
A warm embracing chat away

And ever since that night we've been together
Lovers at first text, in love forever
It turned out so right for strangers on the internet

Love was just a text away
A warm embracing chat away

Ever since that night we've been together
Lovers at first text, in love forever
It turned out so right for strangers on the internet
strangers in the night
by frank sinatra

XD haha idk. love this song ^^ sorry if it doesn't work exactly to the song ^^" but repost if you get this ;)
Riiyyaa Jan 2019
STRANGERS IT WAS WHEN I FIRST SAW
BUT IT DIDN'T FEEL LIKE HE WAS
WE BECAME FRIENDS BECAUSE OF FRIENDS OF FRIENDS
AND STARTED TALKING IN THE MOST AWKWARD WAY


STRANGERS IT WAS WHEN I FIRST SAW
THE TALK TURNED TO CONVERSATIONS AND STRANGERS BECAME FRIENDS
UNEXPECTED FRIENDSHIP ARE THE BEST
BUT UNEXPECTED BESTFRIENDS ARE EVEN BETTER


STRANGERS IT WAS WHEN I FIRST SAW
THE SPARK IN HIS EYES AND THE GLAM ON HIS FACE
AND BESTFRIENDS IT IS I GUESS TODAY
WHEN THE SECRETS HAVE TURNED TO JUST NORMAL GOSSIP
Chloe Jul 2018
The sun glares down
Over lost, weary travellers,
Casting crimson
Over the rolling dunes.
Their shadows
Fall upon the sand;
An ocean of tiny little grains—
Moving,
Always moving
Under the wind,
Like travellers themselves—
Millions of them,
Moving,
Shifting,
Changing,
Constantly inconstant.
The lines atop the dunes—
The divide where light and dark
Separate,
Alter their shape
With the shifts in the sand,
Wriggling like a snake.
This view,
This world
Of rolling dunes,
Stark segregations of light and dark,
Sandy, cutting winds,
Was not made for strangers—
For these poor wanderers.
They wander,
Like tiny ants,
Upon an endless, reddened landscape,
So far from their nest—
Made up of grand structures,
Taller than they are vast,
Crafted carefully,
Brick by brick.
Unshifting,
Unchanging,
Stark and clear against the sky.
Far too compact
To allow room for wandering.
Glass and stone—
A wall against the winds.
A place
Where these strangers weren’t strangers.
It was there—
Right there.
Standing above the dunes,
Reaching out of the sand
Into a pink expanse of clouds.
But no,
These strangers
Remain strangers,
Wandering a world
Of harsh beauty
And wondrous irregularity.
This is a poem I wrote for Rattle's ekphrastic challenge. It involves writing poetry based on a selected image. I think it's really fun, and there are plenty of talented poets here who I think should give it a try.
https://www.rattle.com/ekphrastic/
Jessica Evans Aug 2014
The other day my mom told me not to talk to strangers
Now I laughed and said I wouldn’t
But as a child that was one of the most important things we had to know
Don’t hit, don’t bite
Color inside the lines
And don’t talk to strangers.
Now this came as a shock to me when I realized
That as an adult the only way you make friends
Is by talking to strangers..
-JE
Anne-L Mar 2015
We are strangers
We passed by each other
I saw your face
I knew your name
But never greeted each other
In the end we will forever remain strangers
Xilhouette Dec 2014
Two strangers and one night
All cheerful with delight
A night of sing and dance: Oh my...
A night in entrance: I don't lie

A stranger saying hi,
to a stranger passing by
Two people whom neither one knew,
Seem to be getting along with this strange brew

The other stranger, saying: "I love you"
While other people say: "So it's those two"
But looking at the time they say:
"Oh I must go my own way"

And so they thought that fate would betray
But to their surprise, fate led them to stay
Oh these two stranger-born lovers,
Are about to get their answers

Two strangers to show their colors
Two strangers ending a great day with their next-day errors
Oh to be in love and stupid,
Oh to be no less than enchanted

Then the next day comes: It doesn't feel blessed
Yet it also doesn't feel messed.
Now two strangers out of sight
To be forgotten by the next moonlight...

Two strangers last night
Were once cheerful with delight
In what was once a night of sing and dance
Became something of a sad romance
© 2011 Xilhouette
Cass was the youngest and most beautiful of 5 sisters. Cass was the most beautiful girl
in town. 1/2 Indian with a supple and strange body, a snake-like and fiery body with eyes
to go with it. Cass was fluid moving fire. She was like a spirit stuck into a form that
would not hold her. Her hair was black and long and silken and whirled about as did her
body. Her spirit was either very high or very low. There was no in between for Cass. Some
said she was crazy. The dull ones said that. The dull ones would never understand Cass. To
the men she was simply a *** machine and they didn't care whether she was crazy or not.
And Cass danced and flirted, kissed the men, but except for an instance or two, when it
came time to make it with Cass, Cass had somehow slipped away, eluded the men.
Her sisters accused her of misusing her beauty, of not using her mind enough, but Cass
had mind and spirit; she painted, she danced, she sang, she made things of clay, and when
people were hurt either in the spirit or the flesh, Cass felt a deep grieving for them.
Her mind was simply different; her mind was simply not practical. Her sisters were jealous
of her because she attracted their men, and they were angry because they felt she didn't
make the best use of them. She had a habit of being kind to the uglier ones; the so-called
handsome men revolted her- "No guts," she said, "no zap. They are riding on
their perfect little earlobes and well- shaped nostrils...all surface and no
insides..." She had a temper that came close to insanity, she had a temper that some
call insanity. Her father had died of alcohol and her mother had run off leaving the
girls alone. The girls went to a relative who placed them in a convent. The convent had
been an unhappy place, more for Cass than the sisters. The girls were jealous of Cass and
Cass fought most of them. She had razor marks all along her left arm from defending
herself in two fights. There was also a permanent scar along the left cheek but the scar
rather than lessening her beauty only seemed to highlight it. I met her at the West End
Bar several nights after her release from the convent. Being youngest, she was the last of
the sisters to be released. She simply came in and sat next to me. I was probably the
ugliest man in town and this might have had something to do with it.
"Drink?" I asked.
"Sure, why not?"
I don't suppose there was anything unusual in our conversation that night, it was
simply in the feeling Cass gave. She had chosen me and it was as simple as that. No
pressure. She liked her drinks and had a great number of them. She didn't seem quite of
age but they served he anyhow. Perhaps she had forged i.d., I don't know. Anyhow, each
time she came back from the restroom and sat down next to me, I did feel some pride. She
was not only the most beautiful woman in town but also one of the most beautiful I had
ever seen. I placed my arm about her waist and kissed her once.
"Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked.
"Yes, of course, but there's something else... there's more than your
looks..."
"People are always accusing me of being pretty. Do you really think I'm
pretty?"
"Pretty isn't the word, it hardly does you fair."
Cass reached into her handbag. I thought she was reaching for her handkerchief. She
came out with a long hatpin. Before I could stop her she had run this long hatpin through
her nose, sideways, just above the nostrils. I felt disgust and horror. She looked at me
and laughed, "Now do you think me pretty? What do you think now, man?" I pulled
the hatpin out and held my handkerchief over the bleeding. Several people, including the
bartender, had seen the act. The bartender came down:
"Look," he said to Cass, "you act up again and you're out. We don't need
your dramatics here."
"Oh, *******, man!" she said.
"Better keep her straight," the bartender said to me.
"She'll be all right," I said.
"It's my nose, I can do what I want with my nose."
"No," I said, "it hurts me."
"You mean it hurts you when I stick a pin in my nose?"
"Yes, it does, I mean it."
"All right, I won't do it again. Cheer up."
She kissed me, rather grinning through the kiss and holding the handkerchief to her
nose. We left for my place at closing time. I had some beer and we sat there talking. It
was then that I got the perception of her as a person full of kindness and caring. She
gave herself away without knowing it. At the same time she would leap back into areas of
wildness and incoherence. Schitzi. A beautiful and spiritual schitzi. Perhaps some man,
something, would ruin her forever. I hoped that it wouldn't be me. We went to bed and
after I turned out the lights Cass asked me,
"When do you want it? Now or in the morning?"
"In the morning," I said and turned my back.
In the morning I got up and made a couple of coffees, brought her one in bed. She
laughed.
"You're the first man who has turned it down at night."
"It's o.k.," I said, "we needn't do it at all."
"No, wait, I want to now. Let me freshen up a bit."
Cass went into the bathroom. She came out shortly, looking quite wonderful, her long
black hair glistening, her eyes and lips glistening, her glistening... She displayed her
body calmly, as a good thing. She got under the sheet.
"Come on, lover man."
I got in. She kissed with abandon but without haste. I let my hands run over her body,
through her hair. I mounted. It was hot, and tight. I began to stroke slowly, wanting to
make it last. Her eyes looked directly into mine.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"What the hell difference does it make?" she asked.
I laughed and went on ahead. Afterwards she dressed and I drove her back to the bar but
she was difficult to forget. I wasn't working and I slept until 2 p.m. then got up and
read the paper. I was in the bathtub when she came in with a large leaf- an elephant ear.
"I knew you'd be in the bathtub," she said, "so I brought you something
to cover that thing with, nature boy."
She threw the elephant leaf down on me in the bathtub.
"How did you know I'd be in the tub?"
"I knew."
Almost every day Cass arrived when I was in the tub. The times were different but she
seldom missed, and there was the elephant leaf. And then we'd make love. One or two nights
she phoned and I had to bail her out of jail for drunkenness and fighting.
"These sons of *******," she said, "just because they buy you a few
drinks they think they can get into your pants."
"Once you accept a drink you create your own trouble."
"I thought they were interested in me, not just my body."
"I'm interested in you and your body. I doubt, though, that most men can see
beyond your body."
I left town for 6 months, bummed around, came back. I had never forgotten Cass, but
we'd had some type of argument and I felt like moving anyhow, and when I got back i
figured she'd be gone, but I had been sitting in the West End Bar about 30 minutes when
she walked in and sat down next to me.
"Well, *******, I see you've come back."
I ordered her a drink. Then I looked at her. She had on a high- necked dress. I had
never seen her in one of those. And under each eye, driven in, were 2 pins with glass
heads. All you could see were the heads of the pins, but the pins were driven down into
her face.
"******* you, still trying to destroy your beauty, eh?"
"No, it's the fad, you fool."
"You're crazy."
"I've missed you," she said.
"Is there anybody else?"
"No there isn't anybody else. Just you. But I'm hustling. It costs ten bucks. But
you get it free."
"Pull those pins out."
"No, it's the fad."
"It's making me very unhappy."
"Are you sure?"
"Hell yes, I'm sure."
Cass slowly pulled the pins out and put them back in her purse.
"Why do you haggle your beauty?" I asked. "Why don't you just live with
it?"
"Because people think it's all I have. Beauty is nothing, beauty won't stay. You
don't know how lucky you are to be ugly, because if people like you you know it's for
something else."
"O.k.," I said, "I'm lucky."
"I don't mean you're ugly. People just think you're ugly. You have a fascinating
face."
"Thanks."
We had another drink.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Nothing. I can't get on to anything. No interest."
"Me neither. If you were a woman you could hustle."
"I don't think I could ever make contact with that many strangers, it's
wearing."
"You're right, it's wearing, everything is wearing."
We left together. People still stared at Cass on the streets. She was a beautiful
woman, perhaps more beautiful than ever. We made it to my place and I opened a bottle of
wine and we talked. With Cass and I, it always came easy. She talked a while and I would
listen and then i would talk. Our conversation simply went along without strain. We seemed
to discover secrets together. When we discovered a good one Cass would laugh that laugh-
only the way she could. It was like joy out of fire. Through the talking we kissed and
moved closer together. We became quite heated and decided to go to bed. It was then that
Cass took off her high -necked dress and I saw it- the ugly jagged scar across her throat.
It was large and thick.
"******* you, woman," I said from the bed, "******* you, what have you
done?
"I tried it with a broken bottle one night. Don't you like me any more? Am I still
beautiful?"
I pulled her down on the bed and kissed her. She pushed away and laughed, "Some
men pay me ten and I undress and they don't want to do it. I keep the ten. It's very
funny."
"Yes," I said, "I can't stop laughing... Cass, *****, I love you...stop
destroying yourself; you're the most alive woman I've ever met."
We kissed again. Cass was crying without sound. I could feel the tears. The long black
hair lay beside me like a flag of death. We enjoined and made slow and somber and
wonderful love. In the morning Cass was up making breakfast. She seemed quite calm and
happy. She was singing. I stayed in bed and enjoyed her happiness. Finally she came over
and shook me,
"Up, *******! Throw some cold water on your face and pecker and come enjoy the
feast!"
I drove her to the beach that day. It was a weekday and not yet summer so things were
splendidly deserted. Beach bums in rags slept on the lawns above the sand. Others sat on
stone benches sharing a lone bottle. The gulls whirled about, mindless yet distracted. Old
ladies in their 70's and 80's sat on the benches and discussed selling real estate left
behind by husbands long ago killed by the pace and stupidity of survival. For it all,
there was peace in the air and we walked about and stretched on the lawns and didn't say
much. It simply felt good being together. I bought a couple of sandwiches, some chips and
drinks and we sat on the sand eating. Then I held Cass and we slept together about an
hour. It was somehow better than *******. There was flowing together without tension.
When we awakened we drove back to my place and I cooked a dinner. After dinner I suggested
to Cass that we shack together. She waited a long time, looking at me, then she slowly
said, "No." I drove her back to the bar, bought her a drink and walked out. I
found a job as a parker in a factory the next day and the rest of the week went to
working. I was too tired to get about much but that Friday night I did get to the West End
Bar. I sat and waited for Cass. Hours went by . After I was fairly drunk the bartender
said to me, "I'm sorry about your girlfriend."
"What is it?" I asked.
"I'm sorry, didn't you know?"
"No."
"Suicide. She was buried yesterday."
"Buried?" I asked. It seemed as though she would walk through the doorway at
any moment. How could she be gone?
"Her sisters buried her."
"A suicide? Mind telling me how?"
"She cut her throat."
"I see. Give me another drink."
I drank until closing time. Cass was the most beautiful of 5 sisters, the most
beautiful in town. I managed to drive to my place and I kept thinking, I should have
insisted she stay with me instead of accepting that "no." Everything about her
had indicated that she had cared. I simply had been too offhand about it, lazy, too
unconcerned. I deserved my death and hers. I was a dog. No, why blame the dogs? I got up
and found a bottle of wine and drank from it heavily. Cass the most beautiful girl in town
was dead at 20. Outside somebody honked their automobile horn. They were very loud and
persistent. I sat the bottle down and screamed out: "******* YOU, YOU *******
,SHUT UP!" The night kept coming and there was nothing I could do.
Mike Hauser Dec 2013
Are we not perfect strangers

A chill that's on the wind
The icicle that tickles
As we breath each other in

Are we not perfect strangers

A question that begs to ask
Standing on the fault line of time
A slight memory of the past

Are we not perfect strangers

A stolen glimpse from across the room
Raising glasses high in a toast to life
Perfect strangers me and you
H Aug 2018
Don’t talk to strangers
     You said

Don’t talk to the followers
Of strange gods
Or to voices
With words in foreign tongues
And skin
Like burnt toffee.

Don’t talk to strangers
     You said

Don’t talk to the man
Hobbling between cars
With outstretched palms
And a sign that reads:
‘Hungry children at home
God bless your day’

Don’t talk to strangers
     You said

Don’t talk to your uncle
Whose husband waits
Watching the evening news
With a glass of red wine
And steak
Cooling on the stove.

Don’t talk to strangers
     You said

Don’t talk to the reflection
In the mirror
That smiles at you
Like an old friend
Whose face
You cannot recognize.

Don’t talk to strangers
     You said
The big star sparkles in the sky
Between night and day
There I found you
Butterflies in your lips

If the sun rose at night
And stars fall down each day
This love you call
Would it be for another?

If the moon woke at day
And clouds sparkled
Will time allow to be still
And let me keep you in heart

Beyond the next star
These lines could cross the same sea
Yet would our hands touch the same palms
And recognize the stars of yesterday

Someday strangers will pass by
This jungle of nothingness
And find you standing still
With arms wide open

Someday strangers will pass by
This sea of emptiness
And find me floating still
With arms wide open

Someday strangers will pass by
This city of the sky
You and I standing still
Just like strangers passing by
and I write them.
love letters to strangers,
I support the troops,
I organize a drive,
I make out letters to faceless people,
knowing not the strength of their smile,
but imagining the topography of their hearts,
of their hearts,
I pencil out conversations,
that don't matter,
in order that they know that they matter,
if only to me,

I compliment strangers,
I tip more then the bill,



and I am a face less white girl,
who seemingly has got her things in order,
see my left hand, I've hid my right.
and as they rationalize these random acts of kindness
the gestures,
that I want to matter,

I wonder if they think of me?

I write love letters to strangers,
because their easier to love,
then myself,
I write love letters to strangers,
because I 'm not willing to start one to me.
its a concept and I haven't quite nailed it. I haven't quite said all I need to say but words fail me but music never seems too. love love this song
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FSMZZaxC8RM
with a smile,
a wink,
the rapt attention
I bestow,
I give love to strangers
people who don't ever catch my name, who dont stop long enough to
I give love to fantasy people cardboard cutouts who my be real in front of me but have no knowledge,
of my war,
the inner struggles  that cause ravage in my soul
ridden cage,
I give love to strangers people that wont remember,
that wont recall
the stretch of my smile or the thickness of my thighs
I give love to the mail man,
push it out over my hands, to blow kisses into his face
it wraps around his chin and climbs up the gap and sits on his cheeks,
rosy and stained,
I give love to the children being yelled at two cars behind me in the drive thru line,
I love you, I don't know why she's acting like this but boys one day youll know she loved you,
but she was broken and tired with excuses
I give love to the man who sits by me, rattling the table so badly with his shakes,
and the ever scent rolling off his clothes,
that smell like broken promises leading up to his broken home,
I love you,
I give love to the strangers rich or poor broken scattered collected gathered,
I give love to faceless people, the ones who fight overseas,
never knowing me,
I give love to strangers,
because I cant seem to use it on me.

because when I turn it to me,
the light burns the whispers screams,
the love too tight,
hugs too close,
kisses too intense,
love too much,
oil over water and blood,
lotion over bones,
its too hot for the cold
Raj Arumugam Oct 2010
a strange day
it was full of strangers
when I went for a walk
with my spouse by my side


past the junction
a stranger shouted out to me:
“Help me!”
and I said quite readily:
“But I need help myself –
so how can I help you?”
and I continued on my walk
wondering at this strange world


past the 100-year-old tree
an octogenarian stopped me
and he said:
“Son, can you tell me which way
to Harvey’s Street?”
and I said to him:
“I don’t know Harvey
and so I don’t know his street;
and by the way, maybe you don’t know,
but I’m not your son….”

and past Kangaroo Point
a cheery stranger all teeth
he shouted to me:
“Good day!”
“Oh, great!” I shouted back.
“You may be having a good day
but I’m having a strange day,
I’ll tell you that!”

And past the Greehimn River
a helpless old lady said:
“Ah, kind man, could you pick up
that walking stick for me?
it’s mine and a young man
just now kicked it off my right hand”


And I said with no second thought:
“Oh, old woman
pick it up yourself;
your back is already bent
so half the effort is already there -
and you think I walked all the way here
so I can pick up a walking stick
for a strange old woman I don’t even know?”


and I turned to my spouse
who was with me
all the while and I said:
“Hmmm…what a strange day
with all these strangers…”
and my spouse answered speedily:
“Who are you, creepy stranger?
Why do you talk to me?”
And straight my spouse
walked off from me…


Hmmm…and indeed a strange day it was
with all these strangers one meets
and who walks so close beside
Wandering Monk May 2017
It's interesting to think about how we make people
who used to be everything into nothing again.
How we learn to forget. How we force forgetting.
The path that was started so innocently has taken us to here,
strangers again.

However, yeah like most we started as a strangers.
I never wished that we would end up where we are today.
To be honest, with the way our story began,
I never thought it could possibly end like this. .

But, every sentiments
become empty thoughts
when I look back now.
Recalling that love is not
what it generally appears.
It's just so simple to forget.

From so long ago my question is
if it really happened.
The person used to be my best friend,
the person who was the number one priority,
the girl I thought could never exist,
she was everything that I thought
could be perfect in any girl.

Still after all these,
we lost the fight with this society
and all that of left is
a mind with random memories
from our faded period of time
when this stranger was most
important person in my life.

Now, our life will continue
on in different directions
becoming STRANGERS AGAIN.
Kissy Marie Oct 2014
explicit**



Let the strangers be scared again, my dear
It's finally my turn to incite fear
Last time I was your sweet innocent angel
This time I'll be your Jezebel

The underwear you ripped off me and cast beside the chair?
I'll use them to bind your wrists then grab you by the hair.
Then I'll pull your head to the side so I can bite
And scratch and bleed you until your pain turns into delight

I'll kiss you with your blood on my lips and force you roughly down
My yellowish eyes filled with evil glee like a demented clown

I'll bite your chin and slither down
Nibbling and feeding at each place I've found
Until I reach the place you want to be touched
There's fear in your eyes now; you see my bloodlust

Then I'll start caressing
Teasing
Pleasing

Until you are begging
Pleading
Needing

And you break free of your silken chain
To remind me once again
Why I'm a daughter of Eve
And you're a child of Cain
Dang I feel naughty now! Inspired by Xan Abyss http://hellopoetry.com/poem/895667/let-the-strangers-be-scared/
What's scarier than strangers
And all the things that they don't know
Don't know, don't feel and if they did
They'd never let it show

They have no fears, definitely no phobias
No terrors in the night
No doubts, no worries, not even concerns
They always know that they are right

These strangers are the ones in an angry mob
In the lynch party too
They join the army, even the police
They are not like me and you

They vote Conservative, own pit- bulls
Get involved in, even start pub fights
I've never really known one of them
But I can spot one on sight

These strangers include the rapists
Child molesters​ too
I even believe in traffic, they are the ones in front of you

They​ used to buy Phil Collins
Now they buy U2
They put Englebert Humperdinck at No. 1
When ' Strawberry Fields ' got stuck at No.2

These strangers are so scary
I don't know what to do
Now I never dare to go anywhere
In case I become a stranger too
Keith J Collard Jun 2013
The Quest for the Damsel Fish  by Keith Collard

Author's  Atmosphere

On the bow of the boat, with the cold cloud of the dismal day brushing your back conjuring goose bumped flesh you hold an anchor.  For the first time, you can pick this silver anchor up with only one hand and hold it over your head. It resembles the Morning Star, a brutal medieval weapon that bludgeons and impales its victims.  Drop it into the dark world beyond the security of your boat--watch the anchor descend.
        Watch this silver anchor--this Morning Star--descend away from the boat and you, it becomes swarmed over with darkness.  It forms a ******-metallic grin at first as it sinks, then the sinking silver anchor takes its last shape at its last visible glimpse.  It is so small now as if it could be hung from a necklace.  It is a silver sword.  
Peering over the side of the boat, the depths collectively look like the mouth of a Cannibalistic Crab, throwing the shadows of its mandibles over everything that sinks down into it--black mandibles that have joints with the same angle of a Reaper's Scythe.  

I am scared looking at this sinking phantasm.  I see something from my youth down there in this dark cold Atlantic.  I see the silver Morning Star again, now in golden armor.  I remember a magnificent kingdom, in a saltwater fish tank I had once and never had again.  A tropical paradise that I see again as I stare down into the depths.  This fish tank was so beautiful with the most beautiful inhabitants who I miss.  Before I could lift the silver anchor--the Morning Star--over my head with only one hand, turning gold in that morning sun-- I was a boy who sat indian style, cross legged--peering into this brilliant spectacle of light I thought awesome.  I thought all the darkness of home and the world was kept at bay by this kingdom of light...

Chapter  1 Begins the Story

The Grey Skies of Mass is the Name of This Chapter.

                                                      ­­                        
    
 Air, in bubbles--it was a world beauty of darkness revealed in slashes of light from dashing fluorescent bulbs overhead this fish tank.
Silver swords of fluorescent energy daring to the bottom, every slash revealing every color of the zodiac--from the Gold of Scorpio to the purple of Libra combining into the jade of the Gemini. 
In the center, like a dark Stonehenge were rocks. The exterior rocks had tropical colors like that of cotton candy, but the interior shadows of the rocks that was the Stonehenge, did not possess one photon of light. The silver messengers of the florescent energy from above would tire and die at their base.  The shadows of the Stonehenge rocks would stand over them as they died.

 
          When the boy named Sake climbed the rickety wood stairs of the house, he did so in fear of making noise, as if to not wake each step.
   Until he could see the glowing aura of his fish tank then he would start down that eerie hall, With pictures of ghosts and ghosts of pictures staring down at him as he walked down that rickety hallway of this towering old colonial home.  He hurried to the glowing tank to escape the black and white gazing picture frames.
                    The faint gurgling, bubbling of the saltwater tank became stronger in his ear, and that sound guided him from the last haunt of the hallway-- the empty room that was perpendicular to  his room.   He only looked to his bright tank as soon as he entered the hallway from the creaky wooden steps.  Then he proceeded to sit in front of this great tropical fish tank in Indian style with his legs folded over one another as children so often would sit.
  The sun was setting.  The reflections from the tank were beginning to send ripples down the dark walls. Increasing  wave after wave reflecting down his dark walls.  He thought they to be seagulls flapping into the darkness until they were overcome as he was listening to the bubbling water of his tank.
                " Hello my fish, hello Angel, hello Tang, hello  Hoomah, hello Clown and hello Damsel … and hello to you Crab...even though I do not like you," he said in half jest not looking at the crab in the entrance of the rocks.  The rocks were the color of cotton candy, but the interior shadows did not possess a photon of luminescence.  All other shadows not caused by the rocks--but by bright swaying ornament--were like the glaze on a candy apple--dark but delicious.  Besides the crab's layer in the rock jumble at the center of the tank which was a Stonehenge within a Stonehenge--the tank was a world of bright inviting light.
                The crab was in its routine,  motionless in the entrance to his foyer, with his scythe-like claws in the air, in expectation of catching one of the bright fish someday.  For that reason the boy tried to remove the crab in the past, but even though the boy was fast with his hand, the optical illusion of the tank would always send his hand where the crab no longer was.  He did not know how to use two hands to rid the crab in the future by trapping and destroying the Cannibal Crab ;  his father, on a weekend visit, gave the Crab to the boy to put into the bright world of the saltwater tank, which Sake quickly regretted.  His father promised him that the Crab would not be able to catch any of the fish he said " ...***** only eat anything that has fallen to the bottom or each other..."

         A scream from the living room downstairs ran up the rickety wood and down the long hall and startled the boy.  His mother sent her shrieks out to grab the boy, allowing her to not have to waste any time nor calorie on her son; for she would tire from the stairs, but her screams would not, allowing her to stay curled up on the couch.  If she was not screaming for Sake, she was talking as loud as screams on the phone with her girlfriends.  The decibels from her laugh was torture for all in the silent house.   A haughty laugh in a gossipy conversation, that overpowered the sound of the bright tropical fish tank in Sake's room that was above and far opposite her in the living room.
               " Sake you have to get a paper-route to pay for the tank, the electricity bill is outrageous," she said while not taking her eyes off the TV and her legs curled up beside her.  He would glad fully get a paper-route even if it was for a made up reason.  He turned to go, and looked back at his mother, and a shudder ran through him with a new thought:  someday her appearance will match her voice.  

              Upon reaching his tank,  Hoomah was trying to get his attention as always.  Taking up pebbles in his big pouty pursed lips and spitting them out of his lips like a weak musket.  The Hoomah was a very silly fish, it looked like one of Sake’s aunts, with too much make up on, slightly overweight, and hovering on two little fins that looked incapable of keeping it afloat, but they did.  The fins reminded him of the legs of his aunt--skinny under not so skinny.’

               The Tang was doing his usual aquanautics , darting and sailing was his trick.  He was fast, the fastest with his bright yellow triangular sail cutting the water.  Next was the aggressive Clown fish, the boy thought she was always aggresive because she didn't have an anemone to sleep on.  The Clown was strong and sleek with an orange jaw and body that was built like a tigress.
  Sake thought something tragic about the body if the  orange Clown and the three silver traces that clawed her body as decoration -they reminded him of the incandescent orange glow of a street lamp being viewed through the rainy back windshield of a car.   The Clown fish was a distraction that craved attention.
The Clown would chase around some of the other fish and jump out of the water to catch the boy's eye. 
                 Next is the Queen Angel fish, she is the queen of the tank, she sits in back all alone, waving like a marvelous banner, iridescent purple and golden jade.  Her forehead slopes back in a French braid style that streams over her back like a kings standard waving before battle, but her standard is of a house of beauty, and that of royal purple.

                    Lastly is the Damsel Fish, the smallest and most vulnerable in the tank.  She has royal purple also, rivaling the queen. Her eyes are lashed but not lidded like the Hoomah.  Her eyes are elliptical, and perhaps the most human, or in the boy’s opinion, she is the most lady like, the Hoomah and the Queen Angel come to her defence if she is chased around by the Clown.  Her eyes penetrate the boys, to the point of him looking away.  

                      Before the tank, in its place in the corner was a painting, an oil painting of another type of Clown donning a hat with orange partial make-up on his face (only around eyes nose and mouth there was ghost white paint) and it  had two tears coming down from its right eye.  The Clown painting was given to him by his mother, it seems he could not be rid of them, but Sake at first was taken in by the brightness of the Clown, and the smooth salacious wet look of the painting. it looked dripping, or submerged, like another alternate reality.  The wet surreal glaze of the painting seemed a portal, especially the orange glow of the Clown's skin without make-up.  .  If he tried to remember of times  before the Clown painting that preceded the Clown fish, he thought of the orange saffron twilight of sunset, and watching it from the high window from his room in the towering house.  How that light changed everything that it touched, from the tree tops and the clouds, to even the dark hallway leading up to his room.  The painting and the Clown fish did not feel the same as those distant memories of sunset, especially the summer sunset when his mother would put him to bed long before the sun had set.  
Sake did not voice opposition to the Clown.
Then he was once again trapped by the Clown.  
            The boy was extremely afraid of this painting that replaced the sunsets , being confined alone with it by all those early bedtimes.
Sake once asked his mother if he could take it down, whereas she said " No."  That clown would follow him into his dreams, always he would be down the hill from the tall house on the hill, trying to walk back to the house, but to walk away or run in a dream was like walking underwater or in black space, and he would make no distance as the ground opened up and the clown came out of the ground hugging him with the pryless grip of eight arms.  He would then wake up amid screams and a tearful hatted clown staring somberly down at him from the wall where it was hung.  Night made him fear the Clown painting more;  that ghost white make-up decorating around the eyes and mouth seeming to form another painting in entirety.  He could only look at the painting after a while when the lights were on, and the wet looking painting was mostly orange from the skin, neck, and forearms of the hat wearing clown.  But the painting is gone now, and the magnificent light display of the tank is there now.  

                Sake pulled out the fish food, all the fish bestirred in anticipation of being fed.  The only time they would all come together; and that was to mumble the bits of falling flakes: a chomp from the Clown, a pucker from the Hoomah, the fast mumble of the Tang, and the dainty chew of the Damsel.  The Queen Angelfish would stay near the bottom, and kiss a flake over and over.   She would not deign herself to go into a friendly frenzy like the other fish; she stayed calm, yet alluring like a flag dancing rhythmically in the breeze, but never repeating the same move as the wind never repeats the same breeze.  She is the only fish to change colors.  When the grey skies of Mass emit through every portal in the house at the height of its bleakness, her colors would turn more fantastic, perhaps why she is queen.

                 He put his finger in the top of the watery world; the warmth was felt all the way up his arm.  After feeding, his favorite thing to do was to trace his finger on the top of the warm water and have the Damsel follow it. She loved it, it was her only time to dance, for the Clown would descend down in somewhat fear ( or annoyance) of the boys finger, and the Damsel and he would dance.  The boy, thought that extraordinary.

                     Sake bedded down that night, to his usual watery world of his room.  The reflective waves running down the walls like seagulls of light, with the rhythmic gurgling sound and it's occasional splash of the Clown, or the Hoomah swooping into the pebbly bottom to scoop up some pebbles for spitting making the sound "ccchhhhh" --cachinging  like a distant underwater register.  The tank’s nocturne sound was therapeutic to the boy.

                      Among waking up, and being greeted by his sparkling treasure tank--that was always of the faintest light in the morning due to the grey skies of Mass coming through every portal to lessen the tropical spectrum-- the boy would render his salutations " Good morning my Hoomah.....good morning Tang, my Damsel, and your majesty Queen Angel.....and so forth.  Until the scream would come to get him, and he would walk briskly past the empty room and the looming family pictures of strangers.  His mother put him to work that day, to "pay for the fish tank" but really to buy her a new cocktail dress for her nightly forays.  The boy did not care, the tank was his sun, emitting through the bleak skies of Mass, and even if the tank was reduced to a haze by the overcast of his life, it only added a log to the fire that was the tropical world at night, in turn making him welcome the dismal day.
                  On a day, when the overcast was so thick, he felt he could not picture his rectangular orb waiting for him at night. He had trouble remembering what houses to deliver the paper.  He delivered to the same house three times.  Newspapers seemed to disappear in his hands, due to their color relation to the sky.   Leaves were falling from the trees—butterfly like—he went to catch one, he missed--a first. For Sake could walk through dense thorned brambles and avoid every barb, as a knight in combat or someone’s whose heart felt the painful sting of the barb before.  He would stand under a tree in late fall, and roll around to avoid every falling leaf, and pierce them to the ground deftly with a stick fashioned as a sword.  He could slither between snow flakes, almost like a fish nimbly avoiding small flakes.  
                  After he finished his paper-route , he went to his usual spot under an oak tree to fence with falling leaves.  As the other boys walked by and poked fun he would stall his imagination, and look to the brown landscape of the dry fall.  The crisp brown leaves of the trees were sword shapes to him.  He held the battle ax shape of the oak leaf over his eye held up by the stick it was pierced through, and spied the woodline through the sinus of the oak leaf lobe.  The brown white speckled scenery, were all trying to hide behind eachother by blending in bleakfully; he pretended the leaf was Hector’s helmet from the Illiad—donned over his eyes.
“ Whatchya doing Sake?” asked a young girl named Summer.  Sake only mumbled something nervously and stood there.  And a pretty Summer passed on after Sake once again denied himself of her pretty company.  He looked to the woodline again, a mist was now concealing the tall apical trees.  It now looked like the brown woodland was not trying to retreat behind eachother in fall concealment, but trying to emerge forth out of the greyness to say "save us."

“ Damgf” he uttered, and could not even grasp a word correctly.  His head lifted to the sky repeatedly, there was no orb, and the shadows were looming larger than ever; fractioned shadows from tree branches were forming scythes all over the ground.
             He entered the large shadow that was his front door, into the house that rose high into the sky, with the simplicity of Stonehenge.  He climbed the rickety petrified stairs and went down the hall.  Grey light had spotlighted every frame on the wall.  He looked into the empty room, nothingness, then his room, the tank seemed at its faintest, and it was nearing twilight.  He walked past the tank to look out the w
Sarah Wilson Jan 2010
They are strangers now, separated by their worlds and walls.
There is no chemistry, no spark, nothing special.
They are simply strangers, sharing a couch.

One is autumn, one is spring;
one likes talking, and the other? Listening.

If walls could talk, they’d weave a tale so tragic.

In the beginning, he was sun, and she was moon.
At the ending, she was running, but he was leaving.

In the beginning, there are many things.
There is music, and laughter, and broken strings.
They have cooperation, and commitment, and promises.
Her mom gives them glasses, his mom gives them dishes.
She has her charcoals, he has his guitar.

At the ending, close to the ending-
There is his guitar, her laughter, they’ve broken things.
And that is all that is left.

Promises and glasses, dishes and hearts.
A year of trying and losing is written on the walls;
the wallpaper- peeling, the curtains- ripping.

He clears his throat, she stills- hoping.
“I’m sorry,” she hears, and it’s okay.
“I’m sorry,” she hears, “that it’s ended this way.”

I’m sorry, she hears. I’m sorry, that it’s ended this way.
I’m sorry, she hears. That it’s ended this way.

“It’s ended this way?”
“I’m ending it this way.”
Eleanor Rigby Sep 2014
At first people are strangers then they become friends.
With you and me, it's the other way around.
We were friends, now we're strangers.


F.Z.N

— The End —