The watcher sees all.

The sadness heavy in the air.

Hidden secrets laid bare.

The walls invisible to all else.

The watcher sees it all and admires.

For it can do nothing else.

***

Even if the watcher wanted to they remain in place.

Feet affixed to the ground.

Unable to take the best path they see.

For them and for others.

Their role is to simply observe and record.

Bound by a duty to the ugly truth.

***

Sometimes I forget that I don’t have to be the watcher.

That there is more to life than the sadness and secrets.

That the walls no one else sees don’t bind me.

That I have have a mouth that may speak,

And a mind that might think.

That my path could be elsewhere under the sun.