The first glimpse
Out of the window in weeks.
Too ashamed to confront
The basketball hoop and the car
Which have been ignored
Since the world crumbled
In and around me.
The last rain drops
Are still running down the glass,
Nature’s witnesses of the clouded skies
That have been pushing me
Down to the ground
And confining me
To the suffocating isolation
Of perceiving life through a grey veil.
The thunder is still echoing
In every corner of my mind,
But now the pane is clearing
And reveals a world made of glass,
Drowning in colours and light.
How I long to be washed
Out of my skin by the rain,
So the sun can pour me out
In new colours like the leaves
That changed their green garments
For a yellow ray of sunshine.
I hold out my hand
To the warmth of the sun,
But it reaches into the void,
For another vision has crept up on me.
A grey window frame
Separates
The green tree top
From its ashen trunk,
Untouched by the sun
And bound to the dirty soil.
As the cold touch
Of the emptiness outside
Reminds me of our similarities,
My illusions shatter on the ground
Like a leaf made of glass.
My feet are bound to the ground
And my mind remains chained
To its poisonous roots.
Outside,
The sky is growing dark again.