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~ 1 ~
'Tis one who's crippled who looks at life alone
Through a window of a house that has a door.
The pane is thin - dividing what is shown
With all those things within that we deplore.
So oft we peer through that which comes the light
Blinded by it that our thoughts do see,
A place beyond the distance of our sight
Where we delight in being young and free.
We see no trees for, though they fill our gaze
And birds fly by as blossoms fill and bloom,
We are much like a bird within a cage -
Locked in the confinements of a silent room.
Sometimes the window allows us all to see
What we would wish and dearly hope to be.
~ 2 ~
Red brick and mortar in between
Form the background to translucent scene.
Designed as frosty spirals on the pane
Like silver trails mapping where I've been.
The wind taps sodden leaflet on the sill
As though it seeks the warmth of inner air
While I, with desperation, would fulfil
A greater pleasure if I could join it there.
Yet sometimes I see a face peering back
With staring eyes that look but do not see;
Tired eyes in sockets sunken black
Set in a profile that looks a lot like me.
For oft the scene through the window pane
Reflects the inner thoughts one's eyes do frame.
~ 3 ~
Are not my eyes but windows to my brain
That let in lights translucent little beams;
That carry, in their margins, hues and names
And gather as the memories little scenes?
All that I see does not find refuge here.
Some things do fair but then do pass away
Lest there lasts sad memories marked by tear
Or fragments of sad words I loath to say.
Ah! It is through these windows I call eyes
That I behold your beauty framed so sweet.
For like the stars I see in God's dark skies
You are each wondrous morning that I greet;
My star of light, my everlasting day
For whom in my wisdom I do pray.
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