Friday, November 21, 2008
The window pane
The window is crying. The tears are disguised by the rain drops. The window is so lonely, invisible and thin. It stares out blankly. It cannot move or call out. It cannot make itself known.
The window is crying. It has no hands to cover its face. It has no face. It is simply a window pane that people look out from or in through, and that can be great company, especially when a warm hand presses against the glass momentarily.
The window is crying - it stares, bare glass, thin, skeletal. The tears roll and fall in time with the rain. The night is dark, the amber light from the street lamps cast out. The traffic is unconcerned. The window is shattered and lonely in the distance.