The Sentinel

It's number two of the expected five posts tonight. Cool, eh? Yessir, Yessir.. I feel like I am announcing a new Magic set. But one no one will buy. xD. Regardless, I will keep it going until judgment day :D HAHAHA... This poem, I titled The Sentinel, in which, I wrote about a lone outsider who views events around him, but never really partake. Or maybe, I wrote it about my own creeping sense of loneliness and my attempts to shoulder that burden. Who knows. Maybe you all can decide. ^-^;


The Sentinel

My heart beats,
once, twice, and again - a fourth time.
Am I truly alive?
There was a cold feeling; my fingers.
Like pins and needles, and my breath-
smoky like the frost.


The clanging of the sirens in my head,
back to reality again.
A jump, like from the reaches of clifftops,
a staggering fall.
Back to the humdrum.


Ho hum.
Passers by are mere ghosts cloaked,
as if cel-shaded in the panels of graphics,
and yet, I am no super hero. I have no answers.
One beat, two beat, a third - and another.
Yep, alive, but a stranger in existence,
never belonging.


"Watching is the sentinel."
My own silent madness, resolute and stubborn -
treading a paralell road of which never ends.
The man coughs, the woman rushes, I am bustled over in the streets.
Never once, never does some trouble to question, to look.
Solitary as well.


But the curtain calls,
a mesh of water and color meld into black,
and comfort is met only when conscious thought
bleeds into the imaginary, the supernatural, the fantastic.
And in the world of my making, I matter.
In my mind's eye, I am inclusive - never alone, belonging.
Joined in arms by billions,
sanctuaries for one.