- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Watching
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Watching
I watch you
as you struggle,
trying to get up again,
and again,
and again.
The instinct is there.
The desire is there.
I wait to see if you can develop the ability.
I find myself hoping you can,
wanting to cheer you on,
feeling it as almost a physical pull
on the core of my self.
Why should I care?
What does it mean to me?
And yet, I do.
How much do I care, though?
After all, I just watch.
I don't help.
I stand back, aloof,
impotent,
removed from the struggle
that for you is life and death.
A cold detachment, indeed.
Vacillation between self and self –
no "foolish consistency" here.
Do I care – do I not –
my wavering revealing all
and yet nothing.
And yet I watch.
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