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..."

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