Strangers

The wind blew cold the day I met

the stranger never I’d forget,

he called to me, I answered, though I didn’t know his name,

his voice was deep with richness,

spoke hard words with a tenderness

that made me lay down this here sword, it’s time to cease the fight.

He spoke of wonders he has touched,

of places dark but not as much

as the tears he sees are floating just behind the mask I wear,

his hand reached out and he took mine,

he said, “Don’t fight me, you can shine,

bound to this darkness you are not, let me show you treasures rare”.

The blood lay deep beneath my feet,

my demons hunger quite replete,

but I didn’t have the strength to fight this fight another day,

he held me through my anger,

to sins he is no stranger,

and he healed all parts of me that ached, then he turned and walked away.

I’ve lived those moments in my mind,

a dream it was, one very kind,

but he held my hand and touched my soul of that I’m very sure,

I hope he keeps on walking,

keeps taking people by the hand,

keeps touching all the lost souls who’re in dire need of care.

 picture source: http://hitchcock.umwblogs.org/2014/03/20/criss-cross-in-strangers-on-a-train/