Encounter
a POTO poem by Heather Sullivan

I met the man in the mask tonight upon the Paris rue --
The shadows fell about his regal frame; the night winds blew
The inky cloak which hid him from the city's curious eye --
And yet I came across him still, as midnight ruled the sky.

I knew he bore a sorrow black, a burden vast and great,
For only those who live with pain would walk the rue so late.
He prowled the dead street like a cat, exuding strength and might,
And as he whirled to look on me, his form embodied night.

I sensed some danger - suddenly my heart went cold with fear,
But as he stood observing me, some power drew me near.
His eyes met mine and silently related his despair:
A grief so great, its only place is in the night-time air.

The mother's scorn which made him doubt his own enormous worth;
The hate of the world that forced him to retreat beneath the earth;
The loss of the love who made him feel that perhaps he could regain
The life he'd lost, and with her help, cast off his shroud of pain.

I gasped to think that he must bear the yoke of so much pain;
How strong he must have been to take it all and still be sane!
I offered him my open hand, an arm to lean upon --
He must have thought it pity, for he sighed and then was gone.

I met the man in the mask tonight upon the Paris rue,
But he disappeared quite suddently, as phantoms often do.
And as I stood there, touched by him, my realization shone:
Devil or madman he is not -- just miserably alone.

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