The Fly On The Wall Poem

The fly on the wall.

I was first inspired to write this poem after reading The Great Gatsby. One of the lines in that book just stuck with me and I couldn't shake it. It was what Nick Carraway had said, “High over the city our line of yellow windows must have contributed their share of human secrecy to the casual watcher in the darkening streets, and I was him too, looking up and wondering. I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.” After puzzling over this lovely riddle for a minute, I realized that many times I, myself, was like Nick Carraway; the fly on the wall. Maybe sometimes you are the fly too?

Like a grain of wet sand,

Or a firm root in the ground,

I'm a player with the band,

Still here, but have no sound

Take a glance, I'm in the room,

But you only see what you want to,

Some eyes filtered, but I see everything,

My judgments concealed, I won't sting

Yes, I am hidden amongst you,

Like a needle on a pine,

Indeed my words do stall,

But only that I am the fly on the wall

~ Carolyn

Written 5/27/21