Treasure Island

oskar hansen


Strange Encounter


It was a silent night if not holy, it was overcast
the electric gone, no streetlamps or moon.
A knock on my door a bundle of night asked to come
in because he was afraid of the darkness,
He sat by the candlelight warming his hands
and became almost transparent you could see
he had lived long; the blessed sun had never warmed
his face never had he seen sunlight make rippling
sea into gold. Towards dawn got his spirit up and
smiled... then he seeped out just as the light came back on.

Submitted: Friday, April 11, 2014
Edited: Friday, April 11, 2014

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Topic(s): poetry

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