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The Watchers

they walk amid us like ghosts

looking not unlike you or me

wraiths without any identity

pursuing what can never be


lives spent seeking a quarry

elusive as a mountain puma

at the mercy of the elements

where joy is a mere rumour


should you subsist as they do

you'll not find peace or hope

never knowing who you are

means a mortal fight to cope


for if you lack a sense of self

how to perceive your wishes?

are you wholly terrestrial, or

do you swim with the fishes?


happiness is getting our way

but as your way is a mystery

you will never be happy, just

one stranger with no history


if you have any sense, you'll

accept happy is not for you,

resigned to  observe others'

lives via prison bars you rue




happinessoutsidersprison barssense of selfwatchers

◄ Waiting

Black Cupboard ►


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