He was alone in his own loneliness,
a stranger to all, yet everyone knew him.
History had been unkind to him,
though he was at peace with it.
For he had not been kind to history himself.
"Have all my doing been wrong or bad?", he questioned himself,
already knowing the answer.
"Fuck it," he thought aloud, "Who can define wrong or bad."
The dreams were not a good sign,
but they were his only companions.
So many questions to answer.
In his life it was hard, if not impossible, to define reality
from dream.
He was lost, but marching on the proper path.
"God, how did I become this," he ponderd.
But the question was forgotten before it was asked.
The familiar stranger trodded on, content with nothing,
but happy non the less.
This man knew fear, but had none himself.
There was no place for it in his existence.
"Death," He thought. He knew not the meaning of the word,
but knew he would be fulfilled when he had found it.
Death held all answers, no questions.
His life being a question, he knew his meaning lie in death.
Smiling, he marched on, knowing answers to question that
never were.
Erin S. Bennett
Reason for writing:
I was inspired to wite this poem by the Stephen Kind Dark Tower series
of books. The main charector "Roland" is the, "Familiar Stranger" in the poem.
Birth sign: Not entered
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