I. Cole

Gliding past the usual foggy streets
6 a.m., nobody realizes
Rubbing frozen hands with no-fingered-mittens together
Just to keep them from turning a faded
Red like a t-shirt that's been washed too many times
Following the routine that's kept everyday
Without fail
Passing the familiar faces
The whole time nobody realizes
That a strong boy of maybe 16 watches
Closely, like a flower with hidden eyes
Growing slowly and
Always taking notice
Of the little things
Hurriedly- more focused, nobody realizes
Maybe if I say something, maybe if I stop him
Fear takes over the body like an ice cube flows down your back
On a sunny day in August
Sudden and unwanted, always the wrong moment
Still unaware of the one face
The single face
With eyes comparable to the dark lord(s) of
Magic worlds that nobody believes in anymore
-Beautiful eyes-
Maybe tomorrow