Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Stranger He Knew

When darkness
turned its brush
on his heart
in paint the color
of livid bruising,
she reached far
and knocked
on his entry,
     an inquiry,
breaking his
of sorrow in words,
the bothers of a man
hid behind a stout
door of oak and brass,
heavy hinged,
     a second appeal
he looked up,
opened the door
to a stranger
from the street,
a city castoff,
standing just aside
the revealing light,
she had a word for him,
a scrap of paper
scratched with verses
of what he knew
about ideal love,
wishes from his heart
through the ghost
of another world,
they'd blown away,
written in
another mind,
another time,
carried far
in updrafts,
car exhausts
to her
understanding eyes,
straight speak,
she shares
of the truth
she sees in him
and his words,
and more,
as she stands
part way
inside his
open door,
and he wonders
how a stranger,
born from the heart of a poet,
came to know more of him
in so few scribbled words,
than others who'd
glanced over him for a life.

©Eusebeia Philos 2013


  1. Oh, this was tender and beautiful. Yes, kindred spirits are just like that...they go quickly beneath the surface of who we are...right to our private core.

    1. Hi Talon...yes, and it is an amazing experience.

  2. This is intense...born from the heart of a poet...

    1. So glad you felt that in the reading. Thank you.

  3. nice...i like the invitation of the stranger in...and how they seem to know him better...i would say its the poets heart...the willingness to watch, observe and find patterns....

    1. Definitely some have the eye of understanding. Thanks, Brian.