Eyes of the Familiar Stranger

Life detours from its gentle stream
Little flowers wither at the stem
Yet tis not a dream

Deep within
This fleet feeling
Falling
Failing
Shooting
Seething
Twisting and turning.

old eyes have i
blind to the world

Up high,
In the sky
The dove attacks the hawk

The blood drip
drips
dripping
From up high, onto the olive branch.

new eyes have i
that of the familiar stranger
glossed over.

Alas poor hector
Rest upon those Elysian Fields
Sleeping in the somber slumber
Dreaming of Troy
and the fair Helen.

new eyes have i
that of the familiar stranger
shinning clear.

-Jarel Lighthawk

Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Mayan, in the year 256 AF.