The streetlamp spreads its dim light down onto a stranger awaiting,
I often wonder to myself just what it is he’s waited for.
He stand, always in the same place,
At the same time.
Staring into that same old blackness that lies beyond the boundary of human belief.
He shifts his position to lean against that wall,
As he does every night.
He checks his pocket watch and sighs as a sign of sheer disappointment.
Yet still he waits for something.
He runs his finders through his jet black hair,
And glance up at the stars.
I could have sworn that just once,
As I was walking by,
I heard him make a wish.
He closes his eyes and drifts into a state of unawareness,
Eventually, after several minutes of though,
The stranger awaiting waits no more,
And returns to the blackness that lies beyond the boundary of belief.
Vixodus
xxx