Encountering an old love.

“Past Old Strangers”



I met a man with piercing eyes,
Whose cool façade was mere disguise,
Whose soul reflected sadness there,
The like of which I can’t compare.

Whose massive frame seemed somehow small
For one whose stature stood so tall,
Whose glance I felt afraid to meet
For fear of déjà vous’ entreat –
Like past old strangers reunited,
Or some lost love, not yet requited.

He was running, so was I;
We almost passed each other by,
But something gave us moment’s pause
In destiny’s ill-fated cause.

So, we stopped and shared a word, or two,
Like old acquaintances might do.
We passed the time, as best we could,
Both knowing somehow that we should.

And gradually, he made me smile,
As did he, in turn, in a little while,
But underneath I saw the pain
And fear he felt to love, again.

And compassion overtook me then
For all those empty hours we spend
In seeking warmth from someone else
Instead of looking to ourselves.

For all those nameless faces yet,
And all those ghosts we can’t forget;
For all the loves that haunt us still
And rob us of our own free will.

For all those memories that lie
So heavily on heart’s goodbyes;
For all the love that we emay miss
Because of nurtured cowardice.

For all the chances we let pass
When stepping through that looking glass,
To let the words we long to say
Fall lost along our appointed way.

Because we fear, in foolish pride,
To let another step inside,
To take a place so deep within
That no one else has ever been.

For fear of feeling human need
In fond fulfillment of lover’s deed,
For giving is that part of love
We find that we’re most fearful of.

And all those things I thought within
That sweet reunion with my old friend,
When glimpsing there beneath those eyes
Midst idle talk and flirting sighs.

But he knew well, as I did too,
The candle’s flame to which we drew,
Like moths who flutter to be free,
But can’t escape Fate’s destiny.

And so it was, we passed the night,
But never touched, as once we might,
For we both feared what we both knew,
As past old strangers often do,
The haunting warmth that we might find,
The kindredship of mirrored minds,
The comfort we would share as friends,
The fear of where it all might end…




J. B. Pearce
Copyright