The Watchers
Nov. 19th, 2004 05:57 pmI really should have been doing work. I really meant to. But the poem was insistant. It's more sad than I would have liked, but ah well. No worries. I am well... though I'm not sure what to think of this one... o.O?
I can lay back and watch the clouds pass overhead,
silky shadows against a moonlit sky,
and wonder about how many stars are there, anyway.
I can trace the lines of trees
and dance among the drifting leaves of fall,
never faltering as I tiptoe through the steps.
I can muse about the future,
talk of nothings and whispers and dreams
or embrace the silence happily.
But let the watchful eyes place me in their gaze
and I stumble in my dance, forgetting how to count
the rhythm and the stars.
Let them calculate my measure and my motive
and the fear becomes too strong,
until emptiness steals my words away...
And I am alone
I can lay back and watch the clouds pass overhead,
silky shadows against a moonlit sky,
and wonder about how many stars are there, anyway.
I can trace the lines of trees
and dance among the drifting leaves of fall,
never faltering as I tiptoe through the steps.
I can muse about the future,
talk of nothings and whispers and dreams
or embrace the silence happily.
But let the watchful eyes place me in their gaze
and I stumble in my dance, forgetting how to count
the rhythm and the stars.
Let them calculate my measure and my motive
and the fear becomes too strong,
until emptiness steals my words away...
And I am alone