martes, 15 de marzo de 2011

THEIR EYES BY Steve Gillman

Their Eyes

I step behind a tree.
One car, two cars, three cars pass.
I want to escape the power;
The power of their eyes.

Shame becomes a smaller thing
The first time you reach down
On the side of the road
To pick up a can or bottle;
Pick it up and put it in your bag
Without hesitation, without waiting...
For traffic to clear.

But the first time, tenth time, thousandth time
Still you know they see you, watch you.
You know this with or without shame.
You are not immune to their eyes.
Their eyes are a part of your creation
As surely as was your mother.

So sometimes you walk at night
When you can be what you want to be;
Or perhaps more importantly,
You can avoid being what you don't want to be.
You can be nothing...

Nothing but life moving, mind thinking,
Soul wondering as you watch the stars:
Until, of course, the headlights come
And the stars spit you back to earth.

So I step behind a tree
Thinking I can escape,
But their eyes are there in any case.
So I become once again
Something I didn't want to be...
A man who hides behind a tree.



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