Familiar Stranger

I was standing in a Borders, thinking about an old friend of mine whom I only knew online. My muse likes to randomly come up and beat me with that frying pan sometimes.

It was the sort of place

You’d expect to find a man like him.

Towering shelves rising up,

Containing every written word

That was ever worth writing.

Neon lights that never shine

But paint the way just the same.

If you can think it,

You can find it.

No matter what.

Nameless faces scattered everywhere.

Name tags leading the blind.

Any and every subject on the planet.

Lives, God, color, and worlds uncharted.

All categorized by a simple number.

But it was neither God,

Nor the works of mortal man

For which he had come.

Nor even was I the reason

That he stood so silent-

Undetected by the self-absorbed corpses

That search blindly amongst the shelves.

But for that which he did not yet own.

For that next, quick inspiration

To guide his skilled hands

As he works so unrestrictedly.

Unbound by the limits

Of the hidebound, dreamless “revolutionaries.”

And as he finds just what

For which he searched,

He departs, yet undetected by my eyes.

Replaced is he by myself—

Just idly searching for

That which seems to elude me.

I let his eyes fall upon me,

Yet unknown of his hidden truth.

He let me hear his approaching footsteps.

And I knew him.

Even before the single uttered word.

That single word of recognition.

Just: “…Mine.”

Even before I felt the strength of his arms.

Warm and familiar, comforting to the touch.

Regardless that I’d never known him.

I knew him in that moment.

And he knew me just before.

I knew the familiar stranger,

Lost in a world of art.

Books and tips and tricks.

A collaboration of all things imagined.

Just the sort of place

You’d expect to find a man like him.

Just the sort of place

That I found my familiar stranger.

The one who calls me his.

The one who holds me in his arms.

And finds more than a quick inspiration.

But finds his Angel incarnate.

Unexpectedly flittering

In the one place

You’d expect to find him.

Author's Note

It's been about five years since I've written this and my poetry style has changed drastically. If it's terrible, please don't spare my feelings.