Feels as though he is wired to receive,
Willing or no,
The auras and vibes of those travelling through time with him.
Chance encounters that many would not mark
Shower him with ceaseless impressions.
Some souls seem born with wells of kindness.
He returns what he has of this, out of tired eyes.
Their smiles and eyes are knowing.
They bear no malice, only invitation.
There is a premonition of what they may know,
And their seeming promise.
His heart does a little leap, perhaps to Joy.
Others, with downcast countenance, pass as shadows.
Some challenge him for daring to look,
Hurling angry spears of black and dark crimson.
How comes this? (He thinks, and looks away).
What have their lives been like?
Don’t shoot me!
I cannot help but see you.
Can it be that you perceive my own dark and secret places,
And are but returning these black treasures?
Toothless days do come
When there’s no Receiving.
Maybe there are flies in his eyes.
He sees no souls, but hears only an insistent buzz.
“People stopping, staring
But I don’t see their faces
Only the shadows of their eyes”*
Empathetic or merely pathetic? Which am I?
(Thinks Mister Bluetooth)
Picture credit https://www.codenameone.com/blog/bluetooth-support.html
*Lyrics by Harry Nilsson