A way in, the way out and another strange day,
a stranger to yourself, alone, among the many faces.
Who are you, the wanderer, the isolated way,
no words when words are needed, is awkward.
Look, that one may look to you, in long embraces,
our hopes silently treated in days now forward.
Shadow of mine, light of my day, familiar now,
a stranger to me, while one fades into a background.
Intrigue of mine, show me the ways, and how,
we are so remote here, to express a rare thought.
One can be perfect and clear, and not so profound,
that joy might unite us, the way happiness ought.
Brian Francis Hudon
October 18, 2014