A/N: So I'm a huge poetry lover. Reading through some of my favorite poet's work, there were several themes/images/lines that really stuck out to me as being... applicable? at least on an abstract viewpoint... to many aspects of the Cartwrights. Especially Adam. So here it is. Lines directly from the poem are underlined or un-italicized from the rest of the document (with the exception of the last un-italicized line). All poems for this little stint (I'm not thinking any more than four or five poems will be harmed in the making of this fic) are the work of Constantine P Cavafy, and while I do not claim to own them (or the characters of Bonanza for that matter) I certainly do highly recommend taking a look at them in their entirety.

Let me know what you think, and enjoy! :)

(Seriously... Not quite sure if this is considered acceptable or outright plagiarism...)


One of Their Gods

Adam isn't quite sure what he expects of Syria.

One of Them passed through Selucia's market place.

They turned to watch him as he passed- elegant and eerily mute, as a ghost in the day's dying light. And they saw a stranger dark and tall, perfectly handsome- perfectly alien to them all- with his chin thrust high and proud, and his shoulders set.

With the joy of incorruptibility in his eyes

He wore the smoky perfume of wanderlust. His very presence charged the air, so that any passer-by might stop, and turn, and stare. And he would walk—with a rolling grace, stalking on sinuous limbs. He was ghostlike, fluid, exiled from some other plane to lurk the weary haunts of men.

The passerby would stare at him

He spoke imperfect Greek, with half-smiling lips twisted to the cadence of another tongue. And the old men would shudder as he passed, and one would ask another if he knew him.

"A Greek of Syria? A stranger?"

And he would turn his smiling eyes on them in their shadows, but never say a word.

Several who watched with greater attention understood and would stand aside

The ancient ones held their breath until he passed, and the pagan roots of their hearts would freeze the blessing on their lips. Their souls burned with the nearness of him- of this man, this sacred spirit from who-knows-when.

Their souls continue to smolder long after he vanishes down the dark roads.

Among the shadows

Among the evening lights

He heads toward the district which comes alive only at night, passing airily through the hands of the thief- through the outspread arms of Debauchery, of Lust, and the spell of their kohl-rimmed eyes.

And the next morning's light would kiss him with gold, and he who sought the very underworld of the city would paint his conquest in his own smiling eyes.

They would strain their eyes toward him. And they would lose him, in the quiet instant, when their half-starved souls might beg to whisper.

They would wonder which of Them he might be

And for what questionable enjoyment he had descended

To the streets of Selucia.

They would catch one final glance.

A boy running—

"Ad-dam! Ad-dam Cart-wright!"

A black cowboy's hat, a belt, an unsent letter… pressed into golden hands.

And the longing in their souls would go unsatisfied.