Poetry-Thing Thursday: Stranger

The stranger is strange
when just out of view,
comparing the range,
of each bread loaf’s hue.
I’ve no idea,
just what I’m to do,
when I see the stranger,
with bread made for two.

The stranger is strange,
when hidden by night,
you fear their footsteps,
and so revel in light.
When once they pass,
without second sight,
you see the stranger,
means not to fight.

The stranger is strange,
‘specially in the full-moon,
they’ve bright whitened teeth,
a view with no boon.
Yet look through their eyes,
just a little to gloom,
you feel the stranger,
at home in your room.

We are the strangers,
alone on the path,
that each of us is asked,
to walk without wrath,
But sometimes we forget,
start a blood bath,
of strangers and strangeness,
from poor mental math.

Fear not the stranger,
who smiles at your face
no matter the danger,
we’re all the same race,
for strangeness is Human,
and so too’s our place;
acceptance and tolerance, compassion and grace,
for a stranger seems strangest,
when you greet with a mace.