He watches her. She watches him.
The dog , he watches nothing.
Their eyes can’t hide what lies beneath.
A tilt of the head, a downcast look tells
me all I need to know about their inner
They hate. They love. They lust. They laugh at
Is there sadness behind that smile they
Some hide from each other.
Some hide from themselves.
Some hide simply because they can.
I wish I could see all the dreams buried
deep within their heads.
Dreams which they’ve never fed;
maybe a doctor, a lawyer, or a whore,
maybe a pretentious pious little bore.
Their thoughts are hidden;
a landscape of dark shadows and fog banks hung
I watch it all unfold.
They can’t keep it hidden long,
for like a cauldron bubbles, spews, and spits so
does their mind emit a gurgling of regret, a wisp of
weakness, or a hiss of hysteria in its’ attempt to lament.
I watch and I wait for it all to unfold,
for the hidden to be found and the found to be told.
I’m a spectator to the grand affair which is hidden within.
So know that when I look at you or you at me,
I will see you, see you indeed.
By Philip Wardlow