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Windows I sit silently in this room. Walls of graying stone and dying mortar... Damp and seeping moisture, Tears tracing laggard trails through mired clefts, the products of age And heedless neglect. Silence echoes thunder in the mind to become an overpowering roar Past voices gutter sleeping memories of those who, long ago, were inside this place... I breathe deep to feed my lungs, to clear my mind... but none is disentangled... Sluggish air used too many times, too long ago... chokes my dry and swollen throat, and sends my heart into Rapid retaliation. I close my eyes against the webbed recesses of my now familiar cell... Making shadowed fog of the jagged, narrow porthole through which I see. Making quiet the thick, murmuring communions of the past of which I hear. I catch a breath, a scent of warmth I've known before, In a dream, so many years ago... I breathe deep, this time to rouse my lungs, stretching their eager tissues to capture each and every particle. I invite life into my body, breathing deeper and heavier Swirling sweet, delicious flesh odors within my heaving chest... I open my eyes and rise from my sullied sentence chair and see before me... Windows. With blitheful, blinking, seeking eyes I gaze... and drift... like feathered wings on weightless air, to embrace the enlightenment from the Windows. I see latticed, gleaming light revealing depths of landscape unlike any I'd known on Earth. Dusty-green ravines twine through silver, smoky bluffs rising high above the soil... high above The common creature. Through the Windows I see the sheltering mushrooms of treetops stir gently from the whisper of warm breezes. The sun blushes rosy-red, as if witness to the intertwining of two long-lost, kindled lovers. It causes turquoise-streaked skies to fill with golden radiance, illuminating the lands With the rainbow sheen of artist's oils on tranquil, dusky waters. Through the Windows I see the promise of late summer's evening, a time of rest and quiet renascence... The hope of a new morrow bringing dawn's dew to dance like stars of water on vibrant morning blossoms. I feel The dankened, clammy, air turn to sweet and heated breath on my face. I close heavy eyes once more to experience the tender suspiration on my flesh, And etch the revelations of the Windows in my mind forever. I breathe... I touch... I see... A dimension of forever... And when I raise my eyes again Stony walls crumble into ashen, dying dust Pearls of light fall and bounce at my feet and echo melodies in the air... Into the Windows I can see the very essence of your being Looking through Windows back at me... The Windows of Your Precious Soul have freed me from that prison May I gaze into Your Windows Till a rose is no more crimson. |
Additional Notes:
I apoligize for the length, but I thought it an appropriate peice to follow "The Poet," which was written in 1998. "Windows" was written in 1999 for the man who is now my husband. (Oddly, The Poet is very similar to something he wrote prior to our meeting.) My husband responded to "Windows" with his own poem, "Stained Glass." You should talk him into posting it *s*
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