The window creaked like old shaky bones

Narrowing the top, where the crevices of glass
close like a safe full of gold and treasure
Yet, never breaks

All along I believed- His heart was immortal
The most graceful heart was held in he.

I admired him as though church goers do,
the stained remnants of stories we hold

So delicately- Do we hold on to the beautiful
in life
Yet, not the broken

All the broken pieces and shards lost
throughout the years of history-
I'd ought keep them all

Deliver them to the glass-man
and he'd have returned every
last piece of history
Place them in the palm of my
hands

Where they so beautifully belong-
forever with me
© 2014 Christina Jackson