She walked through the window
Stumbling and reeling
I called out to her hollow
Have a care for the ceiling!
She turned bleary eyes
Smiling crookedly at me
Her face one of several
At the same time three
Amber liquid in a crystal glass
Sloshing over the brim
The newly mopped floor
Whispered sternly and grim
We are only watchers here
Sitting silent and long
As rocks often do
Listening to a stream's running song
An observer of life
The small native flowers
Sprouting by the roadside
The skink sun baking on the rock
You find a group in animated conversation
Hover at its edges
Appearing to join in
No keeper of small talk
Taking it all in
Making a mental note
Of snippets worth bottling
A discoverer of ideas
For words to come together
In a dance
Within the privacy of your own pen
Silently you turn them into
The watcher of night
hid from the day
and fled from the light
because she could not stay.
The watcher of day
saw this sweet sight
as they played this new game
and he ran from the night.
But the watcher of night
did not want to run
so she ended her flight
and stood in the sun.
The watcher of day
was soon full of fright.
Should he, too, stay
or cower in her might?
So the watchers both stayed
and they faced on another.
The night wasn't afraid
so she stood with her brother.
As the night and day blend
Death come for the watchers
and one life did end --
and that life was her's.
A new watcher of night
now runs from the day.
She flees from the light --
She is forbidden to stay.
The watcher of day
is not pleased by the sight
but he still plays the game
and runs from the night.
ebony adorned from head to foot
camouflaged for stealth
in shadows and night time sky
sleek sateenic sheen
iridescence of well oiled machine
efficient avian predators
ruthless in their call
attacking nested eggs and fledglings
with never ending caw
boldly bantering by day
foraging in parks, parking lots, streets and alleys
searching for food with eerie, ethereal, slow motion hops
seemingly phasing, at will, out of sync with time
ancient spirit travelers to another plane
they watch the world with weary eyes
spying and recording the day’s events
atop skies, trees and telephone lines
then whispering into the ears
of gods and poets and cornfields
I am the third person,
The narrator of it all.
Watching all the people,
Live, laugh, and love.
Silently I stare,
Do they even care,
Or am I truly alone?
I hope that if I walk off,
Someone will come follow me.
I dream that someone cares,
For me as a being.
I want all that bullshit,
That everyone wants.
I want that sappy romance,
A girl in my arms.
Do not stay idle nor linger for fear
There is great peril for those who wait here
And do not be merry, nor chortle with glee
For The Watcher at the window points his finger at thee
His face it is gaunt, flesh numb to the bone
He acts with great malice to those who stay alone
Do not stop! Dear Traveller, saddle up your horse
And be silent as you leave or be filled with remorse
Make haste and be solemn, don’t look back upon depart,
For there is blood on his hands and grief in his heart.
Like I said, I don’t want any trouble here.
Remember when I promised you that I would
Watch out for you? I still hold to that,
My dear, consider me your Spirit Guide.
When you wake up you might not remember my vow
My dear, the oath that I keep for you.
I won’t take any away from your quiet ascension.
Latently you know that I was me who kept you safe.
Your success is mine and I ask for nothing in return except
To maybe keep you in my pocket, I’ll
Keep you for my amusement for I love
How you rarely tread quietly, softly, never softly.
For my benefit, just for me.
For as long as you remember, for my pleasure,
To bring rouge to my full and uplifted cheeks.
Just for me.
There is a man
whom I do not know.
He watches me in the
spare time of his day span.
This man is always dressed the same.
Black fedora hat and the collar up
on his trench coat to cover up
the lack of light in his frame.
I first noticed him though,
along a fence early one morning.
As we stared at each other
through my bedroom window;
we spoke not a word.
We just stared.
I decided he was marking my soul.
I became perturbed.
I have always been to afraid to approach.
For his presence rattles my bones.
I know that as time passes
it is my essence he will poach.
I saw him a second time
on a midnight stroll.
He was at every street corner
while I engorged on tequila and lime.
I let him go about his day.
As he does mine.
For the day we will meet
It shall not be as hunter and prey.
© November 27th, 2012 by Timothy R Brown. All rights reserved.
Time's up for the watchers of the big black box,
Who sit and trip away their days,
Who wine and dine till they're feeling fine,
Who pine and whine before they take what's mine.
Theirs is the land of greed and power,
For what in the world can topple the tower,
When the dreams of men do not shake the foundation,
How will we possibly be able to move this mountain?
All who delve into the works of society,
Are bound by the love of liberty,
And try to live life as though we one day could,
Be bound together through eternal brotherhood.
Send down all the clowns that are playing for you,
The tears in the midnight that you never knew.
Alone he cries with a smile on his face,
Always wanting to make his great escape.