My eyes, always do spy

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“I am always on the lookout for something. Always watching, observing and then, when the moment is right, I am going in for the kill: Snapping my one perfect pic!“ Gun Roswell

My eyes, always do spy

I am always watching, always the one vigilant of the group, always observing my very own surroundings, but never, ever, am I the one participating. 

I am the one overseer of life, the one on the look out for anything remotely bad or even nice, and then each passing moment in time, I am the one who is only anticipating.

Whatever is going to happen, wherever it will be happening, trust me, I will be there, carefully watching the outcome, still, without ever interfering in anything.

Why, you may ask, what is the point of all of it, whatever this kind of thing is, if it is even a thing, or is it just something chosen, for the purpose of some kind of experiment or others living experiences to be stolen?

Simply because, I am only a spy, of this very existing life, the one and only outsider, never the divider, never the together, as I can only be, the observer. Because I can be, nothing more as this is simply the score.

Perspective

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“The perspective of things? Well, it kind of all depends on how you perceive them does it not?” Gun Roswell

Perspective 

The hustle and bustle of the busy street, over crowded with vehicles and people on their rapidly moving feet. Why do I even bother to come here at all, when I simply wish I could time stall and spend my days in quiet and peace, alone some please else like sailing on the seven seas. Alas, I am stuck in this city of eternity, biding my time to get out of here. So why oh why oh might deities, can’t you hear and answer my desperate prayers.

Still, I know things are fine for me here, in the midst of the sea of people, none the worse but not better either. It’s not that I am totally suffering from anything really. It’s just the mind of me, playing those tricks you see, I am a person who does not really want company. And all the crowds out in the streets over there, scare me half to death if out venture dare. Why you may ask? Well, I cannot explain, but if I too long out here remain, I get all panicky and afraid so guess it just is what it is.

So, leave me to my dreams for now, the perfect vision of the solemn waves and beyond, sailing on my small boat alone, towards a future unset and without too many souls tagging along. Yep, guess that is me and my perspective of life, a quiet place without sound or strife and simple days with lots of smiles.

The end of me

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“Just because I am getting older, doesn’t mean this is the end of me, right?” Gun Roswell

The end of me

The wrinkles are there, for all. to stare
All the money and even technology, spent
Just gave me, a brief moment lent
And now, all the loud music, is fading fast
I truly don’t know, how much longer, I can last
Hanging on, to this, self made thread
Even if I know, it’s just a waste
All this effort to try to remain, just the same
A pretty face, with enough of a brain
Alas, nature will take its course
No matter how much you push and try to force
In the end, only the flowers remain
Pretty, and red, even, if I, myself, am dead

There really is no lesson nor pun intended
Just a short rant of life, even if pretended
To live for ever and ever and never die
Well, anyways, at least they can say, I tried!

Posted as a challenge, poetry prompt “Death”

Is this, truly, the end?

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“Death, is just the beginning, right?” Gun Roswell

Is this, truly, the end?

“This will be the death of me”
The low hanging leaf said, to the other one left
“After all, it’s about time, for me, as it is already fall
And, truly, I can no longer stall
The inevitable circle, which is that of life
No matter how hard, I try to put up a fight”

There was no response to the question
As the last of its companion
Was already floating down towards its destination
Jumping in, without, any kind of hesitation

After a moment of contemplation
Somehow, making the question mute in comparison
Then, slowly, gently, the now colourless leaf
Fell onto the waiting ground, without no one to grief
After all, it was the end, of the season
So hanging on, well, there really was no reason

Posted as a challenge, poetry prompt “Death”