The Observer

The Observer stands on the platform It's a dreary December morning. The winter wind seeps through his bones and the harder that he tries the more he fails to conform to a society that's always left him cold.

The strangers to his left talk loudly about the latest news events, to his right are the upper class with their newspapers, their ego's simply pretense. For they do not see what the observer see's.

He see's beauty in the withered tree's, he feels the embrace of the scattered leaves. He could drop down to his knees and scream at the heavens above, he could explode with unconditional love, and still he would feel shunned. 

The material world does simply not suit his needs. For they will never see what the observer see's.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A amazing use of words and thoughts.
"He see's beauty in the withered tree's, he feels the embrace of the scattered leaves. He could drop down to his knees and scream at the heavens above, he could explode with unconditional love, and still he would feel shunned. "
I like the realistic feel of the words above. Good to be a observer and be able to write down the thoughts and places to paper and memory. Thank you Lorenzo for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote