the gilded window
in the corner of my room
lies a gold painted window.
it points up to the heavens
like a sharp winged arrow.
the glass is a sheet of rose;
encased in a gilded frame.
a tangle of metal bars,
an architect tried to tame
its divine slant is a trick.
that turns hope to acrimony.
an opulent castle of
mere clockwork monotony.
I shake, I shove, I shriek;
not a soul shall hear my plea.
all I can do, is look out
to a hope no eye can see
a mask-less breath of air
a classroom filled with students
a trip not wrought with unease
a handshake, a hug, a kiss
twinkle twinkle reckless stars,
how I wonder where you go.
never has the game of 'I spy'
thrown me such an aching blow
even if I squeeze my arm
up above the world so high
and desperately, try to
grasp one diamond from that sky
all I would see when I open
my palm, is a cold charcoal smear
that travels up my arm. thus,
quickly, my hopes disappear.
"stay home, stay safe,"
now this is what they tell me;
really, it makes sense; and
it's all for the best; I see.
so, I sit still. I stay quiet
and I gaze beyond my
gilded window
at the tragic hopes that fly
across this poisonous sky.
***