A simple window
A mirror of reflection
I see a balance of tension within its creation
The morning nature arose in its fresh tree pine
Shining itself upon the window's shrine
What do I see?
I spy with my little eye
A sea of independence
And a faction of world pride

Leading forth its beauty
A crack is present on the glass
What could this mean?
Was destruction awake in its past?
Was it a breach of war in its latch?
Or just a simple pile of rough, rocky ash?

A window's future
A glass stain, a mark on impermeability
To be recovered?
Could this be the open solitude of infinity?
Deer with long tracks sheer the day
Upon its past age
Or was it just a present revelation of roadkill...
That subdued its inward rage?
People withstood many triumphs, and
Most filled with anger
Some responsibility taken
Others with pain and no hope to salver
A mirror is worth an antique
Of power and immortality
Not the glass type, but
Our own view of sanity.