The Watcher

I'm done chasing the wind

Till I'd feel its touch no more,

Just so I could tell myself

It was always on my side.

As if it ever led anywhere,

But less round of a circle.

There is no mouth that drew it,

Into the bosom of the earth.

It's a groping 'cross the dark,

For hold to climb the mountains,

Ever over until they wear away,

As sand then to give way.

The fabric billows around me,

Thrashing about with passion.

But I must ever stand still,

To stare into the distance.

I must seek the highest peaks,

Stay where winds shriek loudest:

"There, and there, all around below:

So many places in the distance."

But I see well enough from here

That nothing's there for me.

If I wander into the desert,

I'll only turn into more of it.

For now I must man my post,

And stare into the wind;

Ever watching and waiting,

For friend or foe to come.

Ecclesiastes 1