the wayfaring stranger

he is mysterious and brooding.
he came from nowhere and to
nowhere he shall return.

he moves silent as a cat,
witch-dark, and stares
with a pitiless amber gaze
like a hawk soaring high
above the clouds.

his face is ravaged as if
it bears a tale that can’t be told
except at the expense of
the hearer’s life.

one look at him and you
can see that he knows
the mages’ secret teachings,
he’s read the hidden books:
the very moon in the sky is
his to command, and the silvery,
sparkling raindrops. he can
call forth fire and tell the wind
when and where
to blow. though this earth
does not know him,
the rain cries for him,
and snowflakes speak
his secret heart. but
he cannot go home.

there is a look
in his eyes that speaks
of longing for another world
that he has been exiled from
for a very long time.

he croaks like a raven,
and whistles like a sparrow.
he is cloaked in darkness
but burns with secret fire.

I see him, in this world but
not of it, and I wonder
at the way his strangeness,
his soul-deep alienation
makes me feel
like such a puny, ignorant

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

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