Til We Have Faces

There is no title for this poem, so I'll just name the post after the C. S. Lewis book during the reading of which I wrote it.

I like watching the people move about.
I like watching their feet walk around,
Weaving like little threads being sewn,
They don't know. 

Clenched fists and tightened jaws,
Loose laughter and shining smiles--
The ends that come from the means
Are as I, unseen.

And, for fun, here are some of my favorite quotes from Til We Have Faces:

"Another bore nearly all the anguish."

"Did we really do these things to her?" I asked.
"Yes. All here's true."
"And we said we loved her."

"...a gnawing greed for one to whom I could give nothing, of whom I craved all."

"She won without effort what utmost effort would not win for me."

"Who am I to give the Blessed One the lie?"