The Stranger Poem by jesus rodriguez

The Stranger



Sitting down gathering my thoughts and as I look up I see an older man staring down at me from where I sit. He beings to speak, to which I'm lost from the heat and smell that comes from his breath, which smells somewhat like the putting out of fire. His skin hangs off of some parts, The color of is skin is somewhere between red yellowish and black, The texture I dared not to imagine. All together he has the look of someone whom was greatly tortured. My ears being to focus again and as they do, I stand up backing away seeking this stranger more clearly now, whom to me seems to be the devil incarnated and at that point, his eye's being reaching in grabbing a hold of my soul without the uses of his hands dragging me down to the endless hell pits of fire with the rest of these condemned souls.

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