stained in flawed glass

Posted under Pain Poems by Paul Summerscales

STAINED IN FLAWED GLASS

This is my first alien december,

estranged I look through my window and remember ,

between the houses to a place ,

of now dismember .

Gone years we spent ,

the wind it harbours the past ,

sometimes it blows ,

which recalls the scent ,

my spirit it falls ,

in final lament ,

I dream of our carved names in mental cement ,

forever to last ,

my window reflects my face at half mast ,

an imprint ,

a ghost over the grass ,

of what went ,

my pain ,

is stained,

in flawed glass ,

all windows trap the past .

The events of life ,

emotions well spent ,

of a gone husband and wife,

outside commotions ,indent,

decades of apparitions and all its strife ,

whatever happens isn’t always meant ,

this used energy is rife ,

the anti matter gets felt .

Maybe we feel the connections ,

can I peel away the outer sections .

Why do I feel all that I see ,

is a yestertime ,

in it you and me ,

myself I revile ,

for my own stupidity.

　

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