Above the ancient town spires,
low in a turquoise sky,
giant alien octopus
hovered, buzzing like a fly.

People panicked, ran in circles,
sure they’d lived to see world’s end;
they didn’t know blood-red creature
had come so far to find a friend.

The thing descended slowly; sure
to squelch them, obliterate
life as they’d known it. Opening
fire, they were filled with fear-spawned hate.

Tentacles flailing, in vain he
tried to tell them, signal peace.
Not knowing what to do, he sang;
but soon his lullaby did cease.

Having crashed down to city streets,
he lay speechless on bloody ground.
They searched great behemoth’s body,
a golden locket all they found.

The inspector pried it open.
Silently he read: “Peace to Earth –
dreams of its people brought me joy.”
He sobbed for homeland of his birth.

For rare is it now, he recalled,
that a stranger comes to befriend.
Or is it only that we’ve learned
to strike those suspect first, “defend?”

He knew then this much for certain:
he and comrades, “keepers of peace,”
had silenced a beautiful voice,
their hasty judgments caused dis-ease.

Ashamed, the man looked heavenward,
vowed to welcome others, try
to speak often of the day when
blood fell like tears from turquoise sky.