A Traveller

I only came back for a while, because I missed you. You are strangers, I don't know, and yet...you are a representative sampling of humanity? I can't be sure, but, even though...you are my candle in the dark...the other campers, I can hear your hearts beat...feel your warm breath, when the wind passes gently. I stand among you...in your millions...alone. I would know you, but you will not let yourself be known. It is sad, this avoidance. I tell you of your selves, your warts, your zippers open...your slippers clinging to toilet tissue. I gently urge and nudge, to find you balance, when your balances are blown. I have told you, you are beautiful of face, or if not face...of spirit, then...you turn away, as if I were a ghost. I meant no harm, ever...no cruel torture. I have arranged no trap of concupiscence, to lure you my way. I was only a friend, and you were never. It is sad. It is sad for you, as well as I, that we may only know, such loneliness, rather than the love rejected. I will pray, though not for you. I will pray that god rescind, this slight I am, that you may go, your way, without infliction. I will not share your camp fires, or know your hearts, and you will not know, the love of my heaven, but be at peace, for I am not to trespass, where unwelcome...your wars, your jealousies, your avarice and miseries, may continue...as you please. I will plant no further seed in this place. I will move on. It is done.


Written By Bruce James Clyde 2016, Deming, New Mexico

Art: artuk.org, Gypsy Encampment