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.