Inside this glass case,
No stones have been thrown,
And yet, inside it is broken.
But the shards bring no visibility,
To this cold glass case,
The colour of backgrounds.
Perhaps this is the feeling,
Of zoo-bound wolves,
In their finite grounds.
Behind this glass divide,
Sometimes laughed at,
If she looks at this case,
I wonder does she see,
The ticking rusted iron clock?
Beyond the frozen glass,
Counting seconds I must spend,
Until Samuel collects his debt.
I wonder does she notice,
The shimmer in the air,
As the glass is moved towards her?
Or are there other sights,
Of diamond, platinum, and importance,
To see in life’s museum?
Will she ever hold this clock?
Her hands caressing (albeit briefly),
The worn cracks caused by the cold.
Not when clocks of gold and silver,
Precious gems set in their faces,
Shine without a case of glass.
Her face too, has precious gems,
Those eyes, to me, are worth much more,
Than all of everything man can own.
Too few times have those eyes looked at me,
Holding my cracked and ticking clock,
Waiting to be free of this lonely glass case.