The Squatter

September 23, 2011
By Connor Donovan SILVER, Shoreline, Washington
Connor Donovan SILVER, Shoreline, Washington
7 articles 0 photos 0 comments

A squatter squats inside my house,
I give him shelter, bread, and wine,
I give him everything that's mine.
He spends the night
and that's just fine.

I let him stay
because he shows
that he is safe,
and that I know.
I give him everything I sow
all my sheets and all my clothes.

And then the next morning comes.
He awakes, and then he's gone.
Just as he leaves 
another comes.

This ones family, 
a close friend.
I know that it's not the end,
so I let him come on in.
No, the bell doesn't toll for him.

As I greet this friend with hi,
he says "hello" and then he sighs.
What's wrong my friend,
I must ask.
He says he's done and gone to die.

I say that I am surprised,
although I'm not, it's in his eyes.
He says "farewell" and "I must go."
I say "goodbye, I loved you so."
The last time that I see him go.

A stranger comes to my door,
not a squatter, not a w****
This man, I know him well,
yet he is a stranger still.

I shut the door in his face.
He says, "That won't do,
your a disgrace."
I open up the door to see,
the man has become me.

I shut the door and run away.
Things collapse and fade away.
I've run into another day.

The man who is me,
he does not go.
He stays right there,
as if there is no soul.

I finally open up the door.
I let him in to see more.
But the squatters there
behind my door.
It was him all along.

All the time the squatter
was a stranger and a friend.
Was he there at all,
or was he just a sign of the end.

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