The Lone Observer

Let me but myself observe,

And ink a truce with a jocund nerve.

What else in action stands so odd?

O but I am the commanding God.

And when thru' impasse run I down,

I behold a dead-end to the mortal town.

Yet tis the road my feet have ta'en,

Hence the choice's ne'er mistaken.

Born to the crowd of none but me,

And there's no man sailing the sea.

The sovereign wand to my bare arms,

Casts its spells with fiendish charms. 

O nay but I shalt ne'er to voice,

Feel tis fiendish but rejoice,

The action that still soars the skies,

With covert wings o'er crust it flies.

What it is and what tis not,

This mustn't bide amid my thoughts.

Tis all true and tis paramount,

Cuz no man stands true to count.

Nihilistic delusion for words they say,

Yet there's no one so term'd as they.

And I fete myself as I observe, 

The soul in me all joy deserves.