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~ Poetry by me ~
The Watcher
A war, somewhere. A soldier is crossing a line
when combat begins and something shifts in his head.
I watch. He feels so alive, like never before--
He revels. Ecstatic, the killing. Delightful, the gore.
HeŽd not known he could be like this. HeŽll try to forget,
yet yearn for it later at home. All this is mine.
A city, somewhen. An artist is doing a line;
addicted to beauty, his craving helps him create.
I watch his choice to live fast; he will not live long.
He fades while his dreams become real in sculpture and song.
Soon he will have nothing left, except wait
for the time to pass between shots. This, too, is mine.
A lab, someone. He muses over a graph line.
His life has passed and he knew not the turning of seasons.
I watch his hunt for a truth that he may never find;
nothing else matters. I feel his hungering mind.
His wife had left years ago; he did not ask reasons.
With sudden rapture, heŽs seeing the answer. All this is mine.
© 2006 Michaela
Macha
License: This poem may be freely distributed, provided it remains
unchanged, including the copyright notice and this License:
This work by
Michaela Macha
(www.odins-gift.com) is licensed
under a
Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives License.
Image licensed. Copyright: smit / 123RF Stock Photo
