This is a poem a lot closer to the heart. It’s very personal in some ways. It has been inspired by a lot of works (films, poems, etc.). It is about life’s eternal circle of meetings and partings, and priorities. The initial stanzas begin shredding a line each time. And after the fifth, every following stanza has a line more. Read the poem. If you like it, then comment and spread the word. Questions are always welcomed.

They say a lot,
He was not them,
But of a class,
Of those strange little men,
With the strangest of minds.

A million strangers,
Passed him by every day,
In a world, his world,
A world, even stranger than them.

With a mind he didn’t understand,
He set out for an unknown destination,
On a highway unfamiliar.

It was there he met a One,
A one who realised.

He was an enigma.

And ready to walk that mile,
Or miles beyond.

With the One who was seeking,
But never asked,
For some address.

In a new direction he was headed,
A diversion for him,
He was prepared,
A diversion, he’d chosen.

And when his work shall call,
He had to return to the highway familiar,
Leaving behind the One,
The stranger he had met.
For those little men, remain not little forever…




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