The Watcher

The Watcher

In shadows deep where silence reigns,

A figure dwells, unknown by name.

The Watcher stands with eyes so keen,

A sentinel of worlds unseen.

Upon the crest of midnight's veil,

Where dreams arise and truths derail,

The Watcher waits, both still and bold,

A keeper of secrets, ancient and cold.

Through winds that whisper, trees that groan,

The Watcher walks, forever alone.

No heartbeat stirs within that chest,

Yet vigilance fuels this endless quest.

From mountain high to ocean wide,

The Watcher gazeth, none can hide;

Through time's vast streams, in past and now,

Unbroken vigil-this solemn vow.

Some say The Watcher is a curse,

A soul condemned to traverse

The mortal plane with frozen stare,

To witness all, yet ne'er to care.

Some claim it as a guiding star,

That saves the weak from harm afar;

Veiled in lore, a silent guardian true,

It guards the threshold, unlocks for you.

In the pale moon's haunting beams below,

What the Watcher sees, none can know.

The trembling hearts, the whispered lies,

The fading stars in endless skies.

Watcher, what sights have you beheld?

The rise of kings, the fall of queens to tell?

Do you ward off some impending fear,

Or lament the living who die to appear?

The Watcher never speaks, nor even sighs,

Yet questions in its eyes remain.

Does it know love, or taste of fear,

Or feel the weight of a single tear?

It strides across the world, unresting eye,

Through the dark night and dazzling day.

Its footsteps noiseless, breathless as stone,

An iron-bound phantom, pacing alone.

Through twilight woods and populous cities,

It sees the last rays of dying lights.

In full streets, in echoing halls of people,

It stands forever, unperceived by all.

Some say they have seen its piercing glance,

A passing shadow in the air.

A wind that frosts, a shivering moment,

The world is dead at touch and glare.

But The Watcher heeds not the tale,

For flattery sweet or scornful wail.

Its purpose etched in ancient stone,

A timeless force, forever alone.

Does it envy the mortal soul?

The joy of love, the life made whole?

Or does it pity those bound by time,

While it exists, eternal, sublime?

Legends murmur of days long past,

When The Watcher bore a name at last.

A hero once, of flesh and bone,

Now cursed to wander the unknown.

Some say it guards a sacred truth,

A hidden wellspring of endless youth.

Others whisper it seeks its kin,

A second Watcher, where none has been.

In quiet moments, when all seems still,

The Watcher climbs a moonlit hill.

To gaze upon the stars above,

And wonder if it once knew love.

Its duty pulls, its path is clear,

No room for hope, no place for fear.

Yet deep within its hollow chest,

Lies a flicker, a dream suppressed.

A longing grows, though faint, subdued,

For something lost, for something good.

A world where it may find release,

A moment in time of lasting peace.

But fate is cruel, its grasp too tight,

For The Watcher cannot take to flight.

Bound by its role, it must abide,

The witness of joy, the mourner of pride.

Thus it proceeds, through endless years,

A quiet companion to mortal tears.

The Watcher sees, but none see it,

A mystery carved where shadows sit.

Perhaps one day its job will be done,

And it shall know eternal rest.

Until then, let it watch alone,

A sentinel, doomed to unrest.

Through fire kingdoms, through frost kingdoms, too,

The Watcher waits, yet is never true.

Nameless figure, faceless stare,

Bearing the tread of ageless glare.

If you chance to hear a whisper, a sigh so brief,

Or glimpse over your shoulder a shape relieve,

Pay it no mind, for it will not harm,

The Watcher's here-a spectral charm.

For every breath, for every life,

For moments of joy, or bitter strife,

The Watcher sees but does not judge,

A timeless witness, refusing to budge.

Perhaps its eyes are filled with regret,

For memories it cannot forget.

Or maybe it's hope that lingers there,

A quiet wish-a silent prayer.

Whatever its truth, whatever its role,

The Watcher endures, its purpose whole.

And though it walks forever unseen,

It guards the threads of life between.

So if you feel that gentle chill,

Or glimpse a figure on the hill,

Know you're not alone tonight—

The Watcher stands, bathed in moonlight.

Its duty endless, its journey long,

A voiceless melody, an unsung song.

For every star, for every dream,

The Watcher waits, the unseen gleam.

Forever watching, forever still,

Upon the rise of every hill.

A timeless being, both lost and wise,

The eternal flame in shadowed skies.