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Watching

A lyric rather than a poem, because it invites the music in.

Who the watcher, who the watched?

And who can truly say?

That they are ever quite alone,

As they rise to meet the day.

Many years back then

For reasons not obscure.

Wrapped in the cloak of Soho

Like a million souls before.

He watched an act as old as time,

But never came to know

You don't have to be Prince Hamlet,

To take part in the show.

In a cell with bars of loneliness

He moved towards release

With a pocket full of Kleenex

And a bag of fifty pees.

But as he shifted on his stool

To get a better look.

Two strange eyes were watching him,

Like a picture in a book.

And the shutter fell like night

On the peephole's rosy spell.

Never ask for whom it sounds

It's just another bell.

 

 

 

 

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