So Shy
Watching over the people, the birds, the flowers, the trees.
All dancing in the breathe of his lungs.
He watches with eagerness and a desire to learn.
A desire to see how they react to him.
He watches their laughter, their tears, their footsteps, and yet he is unsure of how to approach.
Perhaps he finds peace in keeping his distance, wondering and listening and hopeful of new events. Only when there are those who struggle does he come to intervene, but such a rare moment that is. And even then, once they are lifted off the hard ground, he recedes back into the shadows to resume his tenure as a ghost. Maybe he is indeed shy, afraid of what his presence might do, or perhaps believes himself incapable of facing his own machinations. He feels the wind and sun just as they do, but he feels such different ways - Unable to comprehend, to grasp their limits.
He watches them grow old and die, and he seems sad because they are all so unique. They are all so beautiful, and yet he cannot approach them. He cannot comfort them until they leave that snow globe he's made. Maybe it bothers him that he has to put up such a cruel wall in between him and his children. What is he afraid of? Will he break it - this glass exhibit that he so craftily forged? He sounds like a tender giant, sweet to the tooth but far too intimidating for their eyes. Has he tried it before? Has he touched them? Has he gone past that barrier that reflects upon him like a mirror?
He has.
It was no victory for him. They were overwhelmed, beyond his expectations, as they tend to be. Many cowered, many ran, many died from the shock. He couldn't have been so surprised. He is so different, so beyond. In a world of his own, if any at all. And they were these ants below him, minding their business and struggling to cope with their lives in this small dome of theirs, while he waited patiently for them to change, grow, and pass on.
All dancing in the breathe of his lungs.
He watches with eagerness and a desire to learn.
A desire to see how they react to him.
He watches their laughter, their tears, their footsteps, and yet he is unsure of how to approach.
Perhaps he finds peace in keeping his distance, wondering and listening and hopeful of new events. Only when there are those who struggle does he come to intervene, but such a rare moment that is. And even then, once they are lifted off the hard ground, he recedes back into the shadows to resume his tenure as a ghost. Maybe he is indeed shy, afraid of what his presence might do, or perhaps believes himself incapable of facing his own machinations. He feels the wind and sun just as they do, but he feels such different ways - Unable to comprehend, to grasp their limits.
He watches them grow old and die, and he seems sad because they are all so unique. They are all so beautiful, and yet he cannot approach them. He cannot comfort them until they leave that snow globe he's made. Maybe it bothers him that he has to put up such a cruel wall in between him and his children. What is he afraid of? Will he break it - this glass exhibit that he so craftily forged? He sounds like a tender giant, sweet to the tooth but far too intimidating for their eyes. Has he tried it before? Has he touched them? Has he gone past that barrier that reflects upon him like a mirror?
He has.
It was no victory for him. They were overwhelmed, beyond his expectations, as they tend to be. Many cowered, many ran, many died from the shock. He couldn't have been so surprised. He is so different, so beyond. In a world of his own, if any at all. And they were these ants below him, minding their business and struggling to cope with their lives in this small dome of theirs, while he waited patiently for them to change, grow, and pass on.
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