THE WATCHERS

THE WATCHERS

They gathered out of sight,
Between the dark and light,
No faces could be seen,
Just colours in between.

The purple ones stood near,
As if they sensed my fear,
The yellow ones were small,
Yet seemed to know it all.

A pink one turned its head,
As though it heard me tread,
A green one moved aside,
And let me step inside.

They never spoke a word,
Yet somehow I had heard,
A whisper soft and low,
Of things I shouldn’t know.

Some carried ancient dreams,
Some floated through the seams,
Some held a tiny flame,
But none would give a name.

The darkest shapes stood still,
Beyond the coloured hill,
Like guardians of the night,
Protecting every light.

Then suddenly I knew,
Why every colour grew,
They hadn’t gathered there,
By accident or prayer.

They’d waited there for me,
For something I could see,
A world behind my own,
Where I was not alone.