My Stranger

There's a man that walks in the ends of my dreams;
He never comes into full view.

Keep this a secret, my dearest friend,
For I will tell no one but you.

He's dark, yet calm,
and always searching.
For what? I do not know.
Whatever it is, it must be important.
This, his efforts show.

From my eye's corner, I see him hide
For he knows I'm about to turn.
As I do, he escapes my view.
This obsession with him burns.

At times I feel a fear from him,
Though mostly it's respect.
He's my villain, my nightmare, the Stranger,
And yet it's him I want to protect.

He haunts my head at night,
And fills my thoughts by day.
The contours of his person are not strange.
They are much like my own, you could say.

The librarian that runs the library of me,
Despite my orders, gives him the key.

He runs through my soul,
Like a child on the loose.
With this, his juvenile side,
No one can call a truce.

My heart in starting position,
Waits for the shot of a gun.
His eyes fall upon me,
And with an urgency, my entirety wants to run.

Never prepared am I for his eyes.
Yet, his gaze I fervently want to hold.
At one time I tried to catch it,
But as I did, found I had been too bold.
I lost hold.

He holds me in the palm of his hand,
But, he doesn't know his power.
With a flare of emotion, I'd be crushed,
And over me he'd tower.

With one move, I could break,
But, I don't even feel the bend.
Yet, in women this falling apart,
Is just a becoming trend.

So, I won't follow through.
I can make it on my own.
No matter if my Stranger deserts me,
Or gives me a home.

Once I was desperate for the knowledge,
Of why he constantly sought,
The reasons for my every whimsy,
My every careless thought.

I was trying to foretell when my path,
His would cross.
Or if it ever would.
I know I sound rather lost.

Strange as he seems,
My stranger dearest,
Twisted is he,
But his heart is the purest.

Dark is he, but calm overrides,
Like calm before a storm.
Only I see energy,
In the face they call forlorn.

From my eyes, he no longer hides,
As it's me he seeks to find.
Yes, it's true, he's in clear view.
And, smiling, (surprising?)ever so kind.

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 surpass 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?