The Eye In The Sky

The Eye In The Sky

You cannot see them, no, not once,

yet something lingers in the air,

a pressure just behind your thoughts,

a quiet proof that they are there.

No shadow falls, no footprint marks,

no shape to study, trace, or name,

but in the stillness after dark,

you feel a shift you cannot tame.

It is not sight that gives them life,

not form, not sound, not anything,

it is the knowing, sharp as knife,

that crawls beneath your reasoning.

The sky looks empty, wide, and clean,

a painted blue, a harmless lie,

but something moves in spaces between,

and watches through the open sky.

Not eyes like ours, not flesh, not bone,

not bound by breath or beating chest,

they look from somewhere not their own,

a place where time does not quite rest.

You turn, you pause, you almost catch,

a flicker just beyond your view,

but nothing stays for you to match,

no proof to hold, no thing to prove.

And still they learn the way we live,

the words we speak, the lies we keep,

the love we fail, the pain we give,

the things we bury far too deep.

Are we a study, small, contained,

a fragile world beneath their gaze,

our every moment neatly framed,

a passing thought, a fleeting phase?

Or are we something they once were,

a distant echo left behind,

a broken path, a silent blur,

a warning etched through humankind?

The wind feels different when it blows,

as if it carries more than air,

a message that nobody knows,

but every soul has felt it there.

No voice will call, no truth revealed,

no sudden sign to end the doubt,

just this quiet, unseen field,

that circles in and never out.

So live as if they stand beside,

though nothing stands where you can see,

for something walks this world in stride,

and knows you better than you be.

And if one day the sky looks wrong,

too still, too close, too sharply drawn,

remember you have felt it long,

before the day it fully dawns.

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