I often hear of his journeys across the galaxies,
the tales of a creature that has travelled for centuries,
told over days, months and years on end,
but still the stories never come to an end.
He is no ordinary being, or so they say.
He can suffer no illness, nor simply wither away.
Some call him by his name but others dare not,
afraid of stuttering when their tongues try to utter what it cannot.
They speak only what they had been taught,
familiar vowels and syllables, easy for their minds to have caught.
It’s not much of a bother and he understands,
humans are quite fragile and their brains have yet to enhance.
Change could be quite difficult and maybe they just need a chance.
Time can change everything and (it looked like) time was all he had.
He was often lonely and the ache ate him inside,
but he knew he couldn’t show emotions, so it was only logical to hide.
For what was there for him to gain,
except perhaps even more excruciating pain?
Then the captain was suddenly gone and another was here,
so eager to explore, so eager to leave
see all that goes beyond his stratasphere.
And sentient life forms, even seemingly stoic Vulcans, can never resist those hazel greens,
nor the messy head of blond hair,
with one careless strand always slipping whenever he leans.
The alien is scared, afraid of what this means.
He knows he can never have him or even admit what he feels.
Purging his emotion is what he thinks he needs,
rid himself of compromise, wrap his heart and tightly seal.
*I removed the full version for personal reasons, you can message me for the link.
Salma’s Boulevard 