May 2020
I have a workshop,
With a circus of colors
To preform and entertain.
Sheets of stained glass
In every color
Only limited by my imagination.
I cut the pieces in curly shapes
And faces,
Into smiles and frowns,
Into leaves or flowers.
Slowly
Arrange
The perfect picture,
Then stand back to look at my masterpiece.
I can never take my eyes away...
Sunlight bringing it to life,
Lighting the reds
On fire,
The blue turns to water,
The faces are are angelically glowing,
And I can’t stop looking,
I’m so lost in the picture...
I can’t see the world through it...
I forget there’s a world through
It,
It’s so beautiful,
Everything I ever wanted...
CRASH.
A hailstorm crashes through,
Shattering the glass,
And the hell storm
Out side blows where the beautiful
Manufactured image once stood.
I find myself a home,
And I fill it with stained glass.
I refuse to see anything around me
Except the picture I’ve dreamed into my reality.
And then the true reality crashes through,
It always does
Eventually.
Destroying almost, if not all, the wonderful things I’ve been so focused on.
I’ve found myself a home,
And I don’t remember building windows,
But the real world outside
Looks beautiful.
It’s full of flowers and leaves,
Sunshine and rain,
Faces with smiles,
And tears,
But no hell storm.
I know in the pit of my stomach,
That it’s going to be shattered,
And I don’t want to be caught off guard this time...
I want to catch it in my hands,
All the awful things,
And hold them like a struggling scared animal
So they can’t surprise me this time,
So I don’t feel like the stupid one
This time.
I’m wandering around
With a rock in my hand,
Going from beautiful thing,
To beautiful thing,
And trying to hit it with the rock,
Trying to break the illusion
Before I love it too much.
I may not remember,
But I must have built the image
In my wondrous workshop,
And tricked myself again.
But no windows are breaking,
And I’m shaking.
What’s wrong?
Why can’t I escape the illusion?
Because I haven’t realized,
Maybe it’s just a plain old boring window,
Not stained glass,
But reality.
With a circus of colors
To preform and entertain.
Sheets of stained glass
In every color
Only limited by my imagination.
I cut the pieces in curly shapes
And faces,
Into smiles and frowns,
Into leaves or flowers.
Slowly
Arrange
The perfect picture,
Then stand back to look at my masterpiece.
I can never take my eyes away...
Sunlight bringing it to life,
Lighting the reds
On fire,
The blue turns to water,
The faces are are angelically glowing,
And I can’t stop looking,
I’m so lost in the picture...
I can’t see the world through it...
I forget there’s a world through
It,
It’s so beautiful,
Everything I ever wanted...
CRASH.
A hailstorm crashes through,
Shattering the glass,
And the hell storm
Out side blows where the beautiful
Manufactured image once stood.
I find myself a home,
And I fill it with stained glass.
I refuse to see anything around me
Except the picture I’ve dreamed into my reality.
And then the true reality crashes through,
It always does
Eventually.
Destroying almost, if not all, the wonderful things I’ve been so focused on.
I’ve found myself a home,
And I don’t remember building windows,
But the real world outside
Looks beautiful.
It’s full of flowers and leaves,
Sunshine and rain,
Faces with smiles,
And tears,
But no hell storm.
I know in the pit of my stomach,
That it’s going to be shattered,
And I don’t want to be caught off guard this time...
I want to catch it in my hands,
All the awful things,
And hold them like a struggling scared animal
So they can’t surprise me this time,
So I don’t feel like the stupid one
This time.
I’m wandering around
With a rock in my hand,
Going from beautiful thing,
To beautiful thing,
And trying to hit it with the rock,
Trying to break the illusion
Before I love it too much.
I may not remember,
But I must have built the image
In my wondrous workshop,
And tricked myself again.
But no windows are breaking,
And I’m shaking.
What’s wrong?
Why can’t I escape the illusion?
Because I haven’t realized,
Maybe it’s just a plain old boring window,
Not stained glass,
But reality.
