A/N: A little smattering of poetry that meandered into my mind after one too many glasses of Mountain Dew. This is set in modern-day New York from the point of view of a random person on the street.
The D'ni Man
I see a man.
A fleeting glimpse
on a busy
street.
His hair is blonde,
almost white. It
shines in the bright
lights.
His eyes, too, are
pale, blue as ice,
watching the world.
Us.
Age hangs around
him, though he's not
old. He just seems
so.
He puts his hands
in his pockets.
He looks around
him.
He crosses the
street as the light
turns and he is
gone.
I wanted to
ask this man who
he was. But I
can't.
But now I see
more people like
him all around
me.
I see the man
again the next
night and I ask
him.
I ask of him,
"Who are you? Where
are you from, old
friend?"
He looks at me,
smiles at me and
he says with pride,
"D'ni."
And he is gone
again, into the
crowds. The D'ni
man.