The Stranger

A twist and turn of events-
language dripped from the stranger
who looked familiar
but spoke in a foreign tongue.
Thus, he faded into oblivion
like smoke curling its way out the garden door.
I never understood what he was trying to convey-
something about kings and queens
setting the pace and dictating exclusion
while they sat in the counting house.
I shivered,
listening to them belch while the dogs barked
and watching them wipe their greasy hands in the canine coat.
I grabbed the heavy steel sword, swung it through the air and
brought it down on the queens neck.
The crowd cheered.
The stranger drifted past me,
babbling mystical tones.
He forged the Pharaoh’s felicity in the furnace,
framing it for the future.
He was the mist, the moon, the dewy moisture of dawn;
I was the sun, the dial, Venus;
the house was the very soil we stepped on,
lay on at night, covered by the firmament.
The path stretched beyond the gateway,
up the heather hills and further into the mountains.
Mr Stranger floated at enormous speed
as though driven by a terrific wind,
mouthing syllables, incomprehensive
to my naked innocence.
He wrapped his breath around my fragrant body,
arousing an ancient desire, a lust I recognized
as the god giving betrayal of my tranquil solitude.
The bend promised me refuge as the road wound on and on.
This stranger clouded my vision,
muttering and murmuring, quite disturbed by this royal decapitation.
I hung my hat on the pin and sat down to dine on euphemisms.