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Stranger at my Door

A stranger came knocking upon my door,
As I tried to move silently across the floor,
Who was this man? and what did he want?
As he approached my door, oh so nonchalant

I did not answer, as I knew not who you were.
Dressed in your rags, appearing as a cur
I stood silently and watched as you slowly walked away.
Wondering if you would return again that day

For some reason the sight of you stuck in my head,
You really kind of scared me, you looked as if you were dead.
Later that evening I saw you once again.
Down at the grocery store acting like my friend.

You tried to approach me and I ignored you again as well.
The look of your clothing, and the stench of your smell
I thought who are you? and what did you want?
And why was it me that you chose to taunt?

I got in my car and left you standing there all alone.
As I looked in the rearview suddenly you were gone.
Curiosity took over as I wondered where you went so fast.
Bound and determined to ask why was I being harassed

Circling the lot now it was me searching for you.
It seemed to me you had simply vanished, without a clue.
Driving back home you consumed my every thought.
As I called the local police, assuming you would be caught.

Thinking you were a mental case, you know, the one that got away.
Or maybe even a transient, looking for a new place to stay.
Either way, I didn’t care. I just wanted you to leave me alone.
Maybe they would catch you, and soon you would be gone.

I thought it all was over, but something told me it wasn’t thru.
On my way to work the next day is where I last saw you.
There you were, standing right underneath the red light.
As the police cruiser pulled up and took you, without even a fight.

Feeling a sigh of relief, I felt justice had prevailed.
They would take you to the station, where soon you would be jailed.
Driving home that evening thoughts of you consumed my brain,
Radio blaring out Segar, I didn’t hear the train.

Slowly my sight returning, people working all around me,
Everything in slow motion, what has happened? how can this be?
I hear a muttered voice say, god he’s really a mess.
Then someone else hollers, I need de-fib he’s going into arrest.

I hear the sounds of the heart monitor as it begins to flat line.
Last thing I remember, is the defibulators steady whine.
I prayed to god, please help me, don’t let me go out this way.
And in my minds eye, this is what I heard him say.

“Three times I came to you, for help one day”
“Three times you turned me away”
“For I was the vagabond looking for your kindness”
But you couldn’t see me, thru all your blindness.

I guess my point is, everything is not always as it seems.
Life is not sugar coated, nor is it filled with answered dreams.
Sometimes I wonder was the choice I made the correct one?
Or was it another mistake, “had I denied the prodigal son”.

Steve E. Poore


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The following comments are for "Stranger at my door"
by POISON9901

After your vampire story, I was surprised by your offerings tonight, both this and the angel poem. Nice surprise, glad to see a different side-
This is very thoughtful, thought-provoking...
how often we look past those we would chose to disregard, and what benefit an out-reached hand might give-
reminded me of the novel "The 5 People You Meet in Heaven" (excellant btw), and the short, short story "Ragman". Ragman in particular:

(link for Ragman, but I warn you: turn off your speakers because the'sound-track' is really cheesy!)

anyway, thanks for this and now goodnight and best blessings-

( Posted by: emaks [Member] On: April 24, 2006 )

emaks, Believe it or not I do have a lighter side also,,,lol. Thanks for the read. This was inspired by something that actually happened to me years ago. I have often wondered what and or if my life would of been any diffrent had I just extended my hand. Hmmm. Anyways, Thanks again for the comment and the read.

P.S. I will surley check out the ragman, and thanks for the warning about the sound, And oh yeah, Keep the oranges handy,,,LOL.

Thanks again

( Posted by: POISON9901 [Member] On: April 24, 2006 )

rhyme & meter
Penelope, most of my poetry hardley ever follows any certian guide lines. Its not two left feet but it,s just my style. Sometimes a poem is better understood if it is presented by the writer. I can not explain how to read it so as it would make more sense. I just know its not you. Thanks for the comment and Im sorry I caused you to struggle so much with this one.
Take care and again, Thanks for taking the time to read and comment.

( Posted by: POISON9901 [Member] On: April 24, 2006 )

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