Windowpane
Windowpane
Sitting on the rocker above the street
Chair takes its station with the man, old and weary
Placed there in time to look out side
A broken window holds them both fixated on the day
Cracked in several places caused by storms and age
Five or ten passersby stream past in a flash
They can’t see him due to the tinted fractured glass
Events spirit them away in any case, in any event
One cannot be preoccupied in the mundane or number of the day
They seize the moment and shrink in size, meander down
The wharf is a welcome warm distraction with sun and sea
Out of reach, out of sight, at a distance, beyond the old man’s vision
The window glares complete indifference to these matters
Down to the shore men march against the storm
With nowhere else to go they come and go again
Maniacs cry for such lives as theirs
Someone used to bring reports and papers
To forecast disasters and read about times gone by
But no more; that time has passed, eclipsed by history
Old man gets all his news by looking through the window
Through it life stares back through cracks
Rising past the damaged world into the bungalow
It seems like everything is somewhat fractured
Like humans, window and the pane, will crack more over time
Mediators to the universe, a microcosm of themselves
They see all things unfold although distorted
Real things happen every day out there
Old man catalogues them all in a glancing gaze
On his rocking chair beside the window
His glaring friend in pain is there
To share his ways and gather up the moments
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014
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