A Visitor Without a Name

A Visitor Without a Name

They say a stranger crossed the dark,

a frozen trace of distant spark,

no flag, no claim, no guiding hand,

just quiet drift from unknown lands.

A comet born of colder suns,

where voices fade before they’re spun,

where life may never take its hold,

or left its mark in ice and cold.

I sit and read the headlines here,

the scientists with clever gear

who plot its path, who name its flight,

yet cannot touch its fading light.

Did it pass a world like ours?

With crowded streets and shining towers?

Or empty fields where winds complain,

and no one saw it drift again?

How long it roamed, they’ll never know,

from what lost star it chose to go,

what made it turn, what pulled it through

the endless dark it wandered through.

And now it passes past our Sun,

a brief hello before it’s gone,

no closer than a distant call,

no danger here, no threat at all.

But I can’t help but sit and dream,

and picture things I’ve never seen,

a place where skies are never blue,

where no one waits for news like you.

I wonder if it knows we’re here,

or if it drifts in hollow fear,

or if it simply cannot care,

a rock, a shell, just passing air.

Still something in me wants to ask,

what else sails by behind the black,

what stories crossed the edge of sight,

then slipped away into the night.

We watch it from our quiet world,

our lonely flags, our prayers unfurled,

and once again we understand,

how much we’ll never hold in hand.

Not every stranger means us harm,

not every shadow hides alarm,

some simply pass, unseen, unknown,

with no intention to belong.

So let it go, beyond our reach,

no wisdom here, no lesson preached,

just something vast and cold and far,

a quiet stranger near a star.