The Person

i saw a person putting his hand on my friend's shoulder wherever she went

nobody saw him, 

but how i envied her,

for how he looked at her.

holding her hand from an inch away

following her around, just at bay

speaking to her, watching her every move

crying whenever she screamed,

weeping in love at her innocence

he knows i see him, but he's deeply in love,

so deeply in love,

and does not have the strength to look at me

i don't blame him.

it is such a profound magnetism,

i don't dare inquire a name

and i'm sure if you knew,

what i could see,

the people that sing ballads in your name,

by your shoulder,

day by day

you'd want to be me

but if you became me,

and saw what i see,

the only thing you'd want to be is you

you do not understand, i don't think you do

so there are angels and humans

not those stuck in-between

who'd kill to be free,

to go blind, 

and be free

but then again,

this is poetry,

and very much not true

a spike of the imagination,

undeserving of your full 

attention