The Watcher

Don't worry about me. I'm content to sit on his hard bench, beneath this metal awning, on which occasional raindrops tap a broken rhythm. I look out into a gray harbor at the edge of a gray sky. The uniform gray doesn't disappoint me, because I sense the glow of an interior light perfectly pitched for an age in which DESPAIR and HOPE are entangled in each other's features. How can we tell if the grimace we saw this morning belongs to hope or despair? And that laughter we hear at nightfall, is that hope playing the fool to entertain us, or is it despair giving vent to a final tirade before surrendering to silence? I cannot tell. But it is my mission to be the one who watches, and when I learn to untangle these complicated features, all of us will benefit. Until that knowledge is mine, I will sit here, night after night, empowered by the dark, and day after day, empowered by the light.