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The Watchers
June 15, 2011
Glazed-over eyes,
And pupils white,
With stark bleached hair,
An outcast, right.
Blindness in wake,
Deadly by night,
Awfully grim,
Torn wings not so bright.
Maleficent glare,
Live freely or not,
An unanswered question,
No future is sought.
I looked at him.
He looked at me.
The silence killed,
The aching me.
I stood right up,
No further glance,
He followed me,
Not even a chance.
© Stefanie K., Katy, TX
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