Watcher
Authors Note: I'm alive! I had six teeth pulled, so I was restrained from the computer while the swelling went down and I stopped gushing blood ;) Miss me?
This was inspired by I don't know what, but it's my first SH poem posted, so be kind. If the format seems weird, well I'm still figuring out how to get rid of these darn double spaces! Bear with me, please, as I try to navigate the many pitfalls of editing. If it's not right, I'll keep fixing it until it is! growls
Thank you to Ayiana for helping me navigate those pitfalls, and steering me in the right direction! (I am also dazzled be your brilliance;))
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. Sir Arthur Conan Doyles genius dazzles my sadly limited facilties, and as such, it should be quite obvious that I do not have the nessessary brialliance for the creation of the wonderful characters I am borrowing for the purpose of this poem and the others I will be posting under this story title. Satisfied?
He watches
the seething masses
of humanity.
Silently.
Stilly.
Immobile and sure.
No one dares go near him.
They know who is.
What he is doing.
They dare not disturb him.
He watches
the masses,
deducting,
deducing,
who they are.
What they are.
Uncovering their secrets with a glance.
Baring their souls for him to peruse
at will.
Silently,
stilly,
he watches.
He doesn't start
as he is joined,
the other chair
scraping back,
but instead smiles.
As the Doctor joins him.
Reviews welcome as always- my first poem posted on (I think...), so feedback will be appreciated. FEEDBACK, not flames. Flames will be used to warm my hands in the rather chilly climate I abide in. Canada. In Winter. Be afraid. Be VERY afraid.