He Spoke to Worlds
The stranger on Double Tree
Spoke in a language
We didn't understand till we were grown.
Set in worlds we'd never known,
The stories made us dream for the first time.
In tongue turned paint,
He spoke of ridges unclimbed and seas unsailed.
The gibberish rivers flowed in sleep
And made us feel the unveiled possibility
Beyond the language we embraced as "home".
We wanted to roam,
And the stranger knew.
His mythos grew from Double Tree to Earth:
A place we never saw until life let loose.
Through the dust and through the lawn
Encrusting his penny blazer,
We saw only silver,
And as we grew old,
It was the only John Doe funeral we attended.
Through our lives, we remembered his tales
And always sought to set sail
To the worlds he had in mind.
It was strangely simple to leave real worlds behind.
I wish we had understood his language
And his anguish.
Now we know.
Now we are strangers,
And Double Tree beckons for new ears.
Our lulling gibberish comes too easily.