You are an erroneous mirror with a horribly distorted plane,
the figure find reflected on it's surface too are  you,miserable one!
And the perplexed observer?Who else, it's you, do you realize?
Don't complain or  blame it on  others, it's you who should decide,
where to begin and when, to set right whatever has gone wrong.

-I am the silent observer
The shadow that nobody sees
The snake in the grass that lies in wait
The hushed voice that plants the seed

-I will lead you to think you are worthy
A gem that cannot be compared
I will raise you enough to achieve my goals
In the end leaving waste and despair

-Opportunist,  a name I've been blessed with
Manipulation, a tool of the trade
Your misfortune a road I will claim as my own
As well as your will,  I'm afraid

-For you see,  I'm your own human nature
The envy that you cannot control
The hunter that roams for advancement and gold
Yes,  I am the truth of your soul

I'm an observer,
I'm both within and without.
I see all your masks.

My friend Amelia (real name, of course, redacted)
is something of a pained Ophelia.
The play's the thing, the part brilliantly acted;
She stands alone by Hamlet's side,
She sighs and moans and pouts and pines,
and waits for him to be attracted.

But Hamlet I know; He's a friend of mine,
and for her heart, he doesn't pine. He's out to solve his father's ******;
Let him go, Ophelia. It's all right. He won't be dissuaded by your ardour;
your love won't keep him long distracted.

Senpai; My Liege; it all rings far more familiar than it aught.
"Notice me!"
"Notice me!"
or then again...
                           not.

People ask me why am so quiet,
and I say it's because I have nothing
worth saying aloud at the moment.

I watch, observing others waste
their words, and I don't see the point.
When I speak, it shall have worth.

And yet, when I make attempts,
often I am interrupted by others
who value their own words above mine.

My words are no more important than another's,
but if I take the time to speak them,
I feel I should be given the chance.

So why am I so quiet? Honestly,
part of the reason is because
even when I bother to speak,
                                                    no one hears me.

I came here
As I write these lines
Not as a poet, preacher, prophet
But at random, an explorer
Of language, this first
Invention, I find it very fine

Finer than many of our
New things, I embrace
The lineage of poet-saints
And eat the mystic rhetoric
For breakfast, all to have a

Feast of the mind, a daybreak
Of the soul, that is not
Contrived by economic murmur
The first light, the dispersion
Of the birds makes me feel free

Like the music behind verse
I came here
As I write these lines
As a simple fool & observer
Careful to maintain my silence

In this world of propaganda
Careful to maintain my purity
In these times of great corruption.

I'm the observer, an outsider to the world. I sit and  watch.
The small child, eyes like shinning beacons.
They play silently. I cannot hear. I'm the observer.
Without them I would fall into the oblivion, the dark pit of reality.
This frightens me.

I'm the observer. I see her grow up, I see animalistic instincts,
I see it all. I watch people pass, unwarranted and alone I sit.
I cannot help feel invisible, maybe I am.
My only friend a small pigeon
Who seems to share my woe and disgust for the world.

People pass. I'm the observer. Nothing more and nothing less. Expressions range, each one having their own story,
I can see it all.
I suppose that's the burden of the observer, as an outsider to the world, lost and forgotten in a thought, a flicker, a moment.
Forgotten. forgot. forget. for go. for. go.

Always seeing,
always watching.
A close distance.
Like bounds of stars,
close to the eye,
but actually far.
Curious stares
circle the world.
Not really sure
where utopia is,
but being a flower in the wall,
means growing to the sky.
Holding hope like pollen,
and having meet and greets,
with the visitors.
These are the wallflower ways.

She always look outside her door
Or stay beside her window pane
She wants to know and see much more
Her neighbor’s deeds and what they gain


She has to meet the rich and poor
She always look outside her door
But that motive of yesterday
Gone with the wind, t’was blown away


She’s now but an observant one
Who always judge and sneers at man
She always look outside her door
Seems she forgot what is life  for


This poor woman, she never know
That now she looks like a scarecrow
Her feet stands flat on the floor
She always look outside her door.