The Quiet Watcher

The Quiet Watcher

A steady gaze, a quiet flame,

No need for words, no need for name,

The forest lives behind those eyes,

A truth that never begs or lies.

Feathers crown a silent king,

Not of gold or shining things,

But of earth and shadowed breath,

Walking calmly next to death.

There is no fear within that stare,

Only weight of what is there,

Time has carved each silver line,

Into something more than mine.

I feel the ground beneath me shake,

Not from anger, not from break,

But from something deep and old,

Stories never fully told.

If I spoke, it would not hear,

If I ran, it would be near,

Not to chase or bring me down,

But to show me what I drown.

So I stand and do not flee,

Let that silence answer me,

In its stillness I begin,

To face the wild that lives within.

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