Window
Feigned sleep.
Those who came to check on me
were quieted in my
imitated slumber.
I could drown slowly on land
in the silence I found myself in.
I watched night crawl over the sky
the moon hung opaque
through a small square window.
How is it I always ended up
looking out at life?
Separated by glass
hoping some passerby will see this
and break this glass.
Why am I always the one
looking through the window?
Copyright © Rhia Madison Thomer | Year Posted 2009
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