Watchman.

The wise watchman ponders over old grief, wondering, thinking slowly.
rolling over each idea as it comes into his fragile mind.
Was this thought his own? or anothers? The vicious paranoia sinks in. His own individuality at stake.
Staring into oblivion, his heart beating as if to a universal beat.
As this watchman waits, and observes, he meets many different people...
They all tell him different things, things he belives he already knows.
He is to good for them? or are they too good for him?
The vicious cycle continues, the heart begins to swell and beat hard and out of sync.
Strange voices echo throughout the watchtower, all the while he sits and refuses to believe.
Is there an end? an escape from this horrible tower inwhich he observes everything in such a psychotic manner?
Only minutes past the watchman, these minutes are hours of pain to his beating heart.
Always hoping that there is an answer to his only one prayer.
Silence.