The Watcher

I am a watcher, have always been one. Throughout the stages of my life there’s one long and common thread, I wandered, and I’ve watched, and will do so till I’m dead.

Today, in my old age, though blinded by the years of so many joys and so many tears, I still am watching . . .

Today, though what I see upon the rise, does bring terror to these clouded eyes, I will obey the law I’ve held so long, so dear, throughout my every living year. . . . If I don’t know, I do not go. I stand and wait, until the date that something tells me so.

Who owns this voice so still and small that wispers in my ear? Hell man, I don’t know, it’s just always, always near, and so easy to hear, if I’m quiet enough, and stand still long enough, to listen . . . as it filters through the beatings of my anxious heart.

 

 

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