Pain of a Stained Glass Lamp

In a room besotted with lavish grace, An expensive glass lampshade has its place. Its exuberant glow, a soft hug warm, But, somewhat less convincing is its form. For a bruise on the heart, a hidden wound, Belies the way the stained glass is attuned. Lead and glass are immiscible matter. Dull and gray vs bright, color splatter. The lampshade's design is a compromise. With horrid thick black lines through clear blue skies. With the wondrous glass insulted and demeaned, To fill the gaps among the lines between. Expensive trinkets can't mend bad form pain, When deep within their sad souls, scars remain!