Windows

I stare outside these stain-ed windows And gaze upon the world so vast There for me to see To know To feel To dream of To understand and make real my aspirations and goals. And as the clouds float ever so lazily by, I think of what it would take for me to fly Up high away from all my pain And towards the world outside I can see, but never touch. It's beauty still startles me sometimes In the trees, In the grass, In the mountains stoic and unwavering, In a young couple's kiss, In the old run down house up the lane, In friends laughing together on the street, In the vines climbing the pines In a father lifting his son onto his shoulders And saying, "Son. I love you." Yet still I stare, unable to reach the things I so yearn for. So I paint, and I write, and I dream up all the things I see and try to grasp. Yet for all my efforts, the clouds float still ever so lazily across the sky, As if they care not for the world and it's troubles. I lean closer, putting my hands to the glass Hoping it will dissolve and set me free into the glorious, Wonderous, Hopeful bliss that exists outside these panes Outside this pain For others, but never for me I hate it, and yet love it at the same time. With the bittersweet taste still in my mouth, I turn back to my paint, my pencil, and my songs And mutter to myself "Dream on lover boy..."