Behind funereal lights
My eyes dim the day
How I walk on my way
As the Observer

Set far bereft
With the tenures of death
My presence inflects
The Observer

But silhouette smiles
Began to deject
For 24 minutes by the fire
And tears more profound
Than the breadths which inspire
Melded with the waves of the sound

Reflection,
Oh reflection
Who is this man?
With a strong brow and real estate eyes
Oh, the mirror was wrecked
In a spiritual hex
Now the only face I can't check is mine

Remember, you lovers
With roads paved in gold
Highways will lead you to suburbs
Grounded on earth,
Look up to the sky
And there you will find
The Observer

Dreams came to me
Of my mother's dying breath
Given by word of a cold and casual father

Just another day

Begin the observation

Not another word was said
Other than
"Where did it happen?"
And I couldn't pull the pieces together
For not a single tear fell from my eye
Only a distant shift of contact to the floor
So I retreated and walked away

Acting as the observer

It was time for work
And the ocean was beginning to roar
The sky was a mixture of ominous blues and blacks

And I thought of how funny it is that it would happen on such a day

I continued on repairing the deep sea vessel like a marine in his battlefield

Stop now and hear. The chain is relentlessly bewildering.

I walked back into the wildly colored room where I heard the news of her sudden demise
And there she was standing, dressed nicely in her usual non-chalant attire with a cigarette in her hand

Without hesitation I lunged myself into her arms and cried like a newborn babe seeing life for the first time

"I'm okay"
She gently whispered
Then I awoke
And again played my role as the observer

The noise is too quiet

In an utterance unheard,
The plundering rook vocalized his mourning dues

Greeting the soil with dejected gratefulness,
He plucked twice-dead worms from the shallow

The sky wept it's abundance to the Earth, cleansing the Willow's barren branches
Rendering the rook content until sunrise should again return

The night settled gently, as wisping strains of sun tapered away until dusk had become but a passing memory

But the rook had no dream that night

Rest and wake. Perhaps tommorow will bring providence for visions.