Page 1, Just a little poem I wrote, I thought the idea was quite interesting.

There’s no one way to live a life

With driven might fight off all strife

Stumble through and make no ties

Some live it calm till the demise

Or as he does observe another

It was his choice, once out his mother

He chose to watch her grow and age

Never himself, taking the stage

No, never did he try to take a different path

Even when thoughts entered his mind all he could do was laugh

She had become all that he knew

No other thing a top this world could ever be so true

By day he watched though trees and vines

She loved the light through open blinds

By night he sat in clearest view

Atop the hill he loved and knew

When sand would come and make her sleep

He would descend ever so deep

His room was two, three streets away

Never would he be far away

The room was cold, dirty and small

Why would he care, he had it all

The hope of seeing her tomorrow

Reached in and killed all growing sorrow

He hardly ate and barely slept

Sometimes at night he screamed and wept

Never once had he spoken to her

Mystery is essential for any spectator

Never too far and never too near

His days floated by, with only one fear

The illusion of her sustained his existence

Yet a battle inside him showed undying persistence

To approach and risk knowing all the flaws that she has

Or continue to see her through his minds looking glass

Her outer beauty was blinding, each gaze felt like a sin

Could life be the same if mediocrity lay within?

There had been lovers and friends

Other meaningless trends

One had broken the bricks

Using charm and dark tricks

But gone were the times of envy and regret

He had chosen to watch, thus his path had been set

Dreams and hopes were perfectly fair

Interference or contact would lead to despair

Was his purpose mistaken and possible wrong

Was no matter, he was happy, after so long

The feeling he got watching her blissful travels

Would never compare to this worlds countless marvels

Has she seen him before or felt his soft presence?

Have the senses informed her of a familiar essence?

No one knows the path she has chosen to take

She might know she’s on stage, make no mistake

Narrator

Here I sit two floors up watching him watch

Days turned to years before I could see

Knowing only of time from my soft ticking watch

This man could be known as someone like me

First hand through my window I have known he is hollow

Never different and daily, the routine doesn’t change

But the beauty of stories lies in what is to follow

And this one has engulfed me, it is ever so strange

I will watch till the end although I know the conclusion

That this man has found peace and so why would he stop

Every minute he spends wrapped inside his illusion

Gives his path a true purpose from here till the top

© Copyright 2013Gio Koutsakis All rights reserved. Gio Koutsakis has granted theNextBigWriter, LLC non-exclusive rights to display this work on Booksie.com.