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to observe the observer
is to love and to serve her

as her bottom lip secedes from the top,
i still my thoughts til they stop

To belong to the observer
is to long observe her

It is to experience her analysis,
brushing her hair in wait for her synthesis

Covered in logic and reason
her critique or thought comes out
and though it can bring painful change in season
hearing it is the only righteous route

To listen to the observer
is to be challenged by her

to take her challenge is to listen with humble ears
to take her challenge is to gain wisdom for years

This is what it means to love and to hold her
to observe my beautiful, sweet observer
Lunar Oct 2016
People label me as one of those very observant ones they have ever met in their lives. Whatever I think about others, is close enough to ninety percent of the truth (not to judge, of course).

And it is also truth that those who laugh the most, cry the most. I guess this also applies to those very positive people, who are the most negative in their heads or they've also been through the most negative incidents.

There is a certain boy, a young man, who just entered the twenties stage of life. I observe and read him, and I have been doing this for the past eight months.

He is quiet, he is kind, he is a very bright person who looks out for others, probably too much. He is smart and has attended top schools and won several competitions in the martial arts, as well as performing and fine arts. A very artistic soul, quite opposed to his rather playful countenance; though beauty is displayed in all his capabilities and striking features. Even the way he speaks is soothing and gentle, and I admit I would sleep to it and regret how his voice is too nice to be literally slept on.

I know a part of his painful past with the spinal tuberculosis accident or the fact when he couldn't enter his dream art school. And perhaps, a darker part of his history that is unknown except by him and his close ones.

But I can see it, I can see it on his face, in his actions and some of his words: sometimes he tries to get attention by doing unnecessary or silly things; says the weirdest of phrases; he gets tired and there's this certain feeling lurking in his gaze. He always looks like he's looking for something, for someone. He always looks like he is wondering about everything and anything. He even looks lost or frustrated on some occasions.

Honestly, a Sadness Collector knows when another is nearby or in sight. I am one, and I know he is another. He always wants people to depend on him or for them to think that he is alright. It's not so bad, but I wish he would rest his little fragile heart that can only take so much of others' sadness. He still has his own sadness to keep under all of that. I want him to give some of it to me that the burden and tears may be shared between us, and he can live a little lighter.

But I love him, because he is a different Sadness Collector. He always cheers others up and tries to help. He always compliments others. He is always willing to learn the right way, to go out and do his best. This Sadness Collector doesn't deserve to be one; he deserves to collect happiness instead.

Although there are times when his friends say that he is quieter that usual, and a bit less active. He says he usually sleeps it off and feels better when he awakes after. He says he rarely gets stressed but when he does, it's a whole different thing and only he knows how his own mind can destruct his built-up facade of confidence. Maybe he gets too quiet at times because he thinks he might make a mistake again. He may appear very vain and very confident, but I'm afraid it might all just be an image that he's painted of himself for everyone around him to see.

His music taste is very much like mine. He shared some alternative music, but as soon as I heard the melody and read the lyrics, it doubled as a small cry of distress.

I’m actually very beautiful when the world is pitch-black
The most I’ll get is being consumed when I try to love
The trouble is irrelevant
It doesn’t matter what’s wrong

If only I can be flattered just like you do
Then the torment around me will perhaps die out
I’m not concerned about how many chances I get
As fearless as a giant; indulging myself; however I’m no match

Ugly, don’t turn the lights on
The love I want is haunted on the pitch-black stage
Ugly, in this ambiguous time
My existence is like an accident

Some look beautiful after a drop of tear
Some just throw away their name
As long as you are hypocritical enough you won’t be afraid of anything, right?
If the script is written well, who will be more dignified?
I can only silently face the beautiful innocence
There are many chances for desire to become drowning in alcohol
Like the fearlessness of dust
Becoming ash, who will remember who
Who cares if he’s a match

Ugly, you won’t blame them if you get used to it
Get high and stomp on it with strength
Ugly, this is our time
It would actually be a shock if I don’t exist

Oh, how I want to embrace him every time I think of him listening to that song. As emotional human beings, we pay attention to such lyrics more often than not, that reflect the listener's or our emotions. Maybe he thinks he lacks in many, many ways. It is normal for him to think so. But I hope he doesn't dwell on it. He likes this anime show that I watch, too. That show, though, is a sad one which shows the masks of society and the gore of the past behind every flawless present.

He is a very trustworthy friend; a funny guy who is "in love" with himself; a talented individual who loves people and language; an artist of most arts, as well as an art himself. And as much as I say that I want to be the one who collects his sadness or whom he shares his load of sadness with, sometimes I doubt he will ever let me.

I feel like I can no longer do anything anymore for him because he is the one who has already collected mine.
Explicitly, this is how I see WJH so far; past all the glitter and glamour of his fast-paced lifestyle. I don't think there has ever been a moment where he never made me sad on purpose. He always collects my sadness, in other words, he always makes me happy. One day, maybe I can make him happy too, and collect his sadness.

Wjh-- It's been nine months ever since I started to know and love you. I'll stay until either of us has to let go. But I know I still love you after knowing all those sad things. One day, I will definitely play You Are the Moon on the piano while singing it to you. Even in dark times, you have to keep shining. You may not think you are, but my dear, you are shining much more than anyone I know. Don't think your light will fade out yet soon.

PS. These are purely all on what I observe, think and assume about him. If I get to know him, I hope the bad side is not as bad as I imagine or see it to be.
PPS. im a proud infj!! and i really, really love observing people (it is my most useful talent when it comes to dealing with people and it helps me out in my career)
Erin Suurkoivu Sep 2016
Not quite a hurricane
but a wind that still blows,
holding love aloft.
I prefer to be behind the scenes
like god,
observing the audience
through a ***** in the curtain.

I am prophecy self-fulfilled,
but I’ve been before mistaken.

Surprised to learn
that they embrace what they ****.
Featured along with other fine poems in my poetry collection, "Witch", available on Amazon and Lulu.
Erin Suurkoivu Sep 2016
The sting of raindrops,
a thirst for outdoors.
Dusk, and the
whisper of leaves,
a certain silence. The evening hangs
still. I want to observe the
moment of change,
the discovery of strength,
a joining.
Featured along with other fine poems in my poetry collection, "Witch", available on Amazon or through Lulu.
Emily R Jun 2016
I am the observer, the artist.
I wonder the thoughts of others.
I hear the unheard cries for help.
I see the details that disguise hidden pain.
I want to reach out across the globe.

I am the observer, the artist.
I pretend that I could inspire people.
I feel in my heart I can't.
I touch the minds of the innocent.
I worry that my best won't be enough

I am the observer, the artist.
I cry for those whose survival is uncertain.
I understand that second chances exist.
I say to try harder.
I dream that we will be loved.
I hope I can make a difference.

I am the observer, the artist.
Emily R Jun 2016
A blue clear sky
the leafy green trees
rainbow colored flowers
the sound of buzzing bees.

A cold crisp air
freshly fallen snow
tall leafless trees
the cold an animal's foe.

A clean leafy smell
the school bell ringing proudly
and the mockingbird's call
singing so proudly.

Bright bursts of color
pollen everywhere
little showers of rain
and a sweet smell in the air.
Bee Ethel Jun 2016
one day walking,
i stopped and stooped,
it looked almost fake,
a bare touch,
my shoe then suddenly,
say forth,
venturing without words,
so much of black,yellow and blue,
riding the wind where words have gone,
flying forth and far above,

what places have you been,
how did you find yourself here?

landing on your chosen destination,
a drab and grey building,
you are safe from other shoes,
and still amazingly vibrant
Snehith Kumbla May 2016
I love slow,
not snailish,
random acts,
but where one is
relieved, revealed

in their yawn and
stretching of limbs,
a little scratch
in the ribs,
stomach

like an animal
absently fluffing
up fur...
a spread of charm,
wayward hair

strand curled
curled to a spiral,
deep guttural sigh
of a woman asleep
over her lush hair

or walking quietly
under the trees
trance-gazing
a stray cotton seed,
helicoptering dry leaf,

squirrel run...
I love slow,
gentle sidestep
dance to it,
revolve of

lissome waist to music,
liquid spread
in a hot pan,
still breath
between kisses

sea waves licking
up the feet,
slithering afar,
time nibbling
away...
Tyler Houck May 2016
It's just noise.
The sound of a car driving by.
The sound of chirping birds in the air.
The sound of the wind through the trees.
The sound of the river flowing in the backyard.

It's just noise if you hear it,
The things that are around you,
Unless you listen.

Listen to the car.
What does it sound like?
Where is it going?

Listen to the birds.
Where are they?
What are they doing?

Listen to the wind.
What sounds does it carry?
Is a storm coming?

Listen to the river.
How fast does it flow?
How low is it running?

Everything is just noise,
Unless you listen.
Don't just hear what's around you, listen to what's around you.  We gain nothing by hearing something, but learn by listening.
Anton Kooistra Apr 2016
on the the water
somewhere this

then an
many different ideas
  
an unused phone
balcony, cracked lips, eggs

a party, someone left
copious, the birds
  
cold feet, an golden trees
hung over
  
the, the Pigeon
after the clean outside
    
matters, 7 bottles of wine
breeze twitter, plate
    
but then, a sketchbook
a red curtain, the brother
  
empty, difficult
police, for what it's worth
    
water, floor
sue, it is a
another cure
sister, a Malaysian
    
dry, another one
screen, front door
    
whispering sun
firehose cloud
Observe a hangover
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