Since anyone can remember, they’ve been there,
Dull husks of shadow hanging just above the ground,
Featureless, save for a pair of beady, glass eyes,
Shimmering like sunbeams caught in winter morning’s ice.

They invoke no reaction wherever they go,
Their visage now a staple of our day-to-day commutes,
Hanging about street lamps, loitering near bus stops,
Occasionally wandering about in a slow, quiet hover,
Enjoying the little space to themselves they are afforded
Among bustling crowds and busy streets.

We know they are simply there to watch.

Few even still wonder why they watch us,
To what end they sit and stare ceaselessly,
Casting their hollow, uninterrupted gazes upon us,
So silent and devoid of expression that no one would know
If they are judging, retaining, absorbing our actions,
If there exists any reason for them to constantly bear witness
To our lives, which are surely as nondescript as their faces.

Even as their presence fades into normalcy,
Some few among us still refuse to accept them,
The apparent purposelessness of their watching,
The unflinching, unappreciated fact of their existence.

“They are spies sent from beyond!” some cry.
Beyond here, perhaps, but otherwise, who can say where?
If they are recording us with malicious intent,
We’ve already gone and given them a century or so’s head start.

“What right have they to watch us?” others demand.
They’ve perhaps as much a right as any odd soul,
Be it a stranger in the park, or a customer at the café,
Whose presence can hardly be attributed as an offense.

“Something must be done!” yells the occasional soapboxer.
What should one naturally do when faced with a wall
That cannot be broken down, but can easily be walked around?
While some would know to simply step to the side
And move onwards, unburdened by this obstacle,
Others are seemingly just as content
To sit in front of the wall and cry at it.

As I meander down the block towards my apartment,
Passing among faces plastered with innocence or glinting with malevolence,
I stop and stare at the dark cloud forming next to my doorstep,
Floating almost listlessly, populated by two dimly shining stars
That had been intently trained on my movements as I approached.
I look deeply into this watcher’s pale gemstone eyes,
And am profoundly struck with the strange sense
That this thing, this observer, despite its constant watch,
Knows as little of me as I know of it.