Note: For some odd reason when I was composing this, the last two lines rhymed. o-o; That was unintentional and I didn't mean to do that, but I decided to leave those two stanzas the way they are because they made the poem flow nicely. ^^; So my sincere apologizes for that!
The Watcher
It is time, he feels, to rebel
Against what he sees as wrong,
But what we see as right.
He waits and observes the other boys’ natures
And enlists them into his army.
He calls to them now, his slayers
Painting them with his lust, greed, and ferocity
With which he paints his own.
Distorted images manifest themselves in that mask of his
Ever changing, ever developing
Into something fiercer, more wild.
His mind seems so locked onto his new ambition
That he begins to fall out of line,
So he flees democracy.
But he will return as someone else
For now, he still watches over them all,
Biding his time
Planning his crime.
XxXSheenaXxX
