The Window - 2/12/05
The bleeding heart is waxing
Philosophical jive talking
Under mantles of dark stone
Your blessed presence is two-toned
But my thanks would never last
(half painted trim, half weathered glass)
just like any passing thought in
your long absence I’ve forgotten
just consider me that window
calling, begging, “oh look in! oh
if you could only see just how
transparent I can be now!”
a purpose full of faces that make
the most of narrow spaces. Break
my heart and break its panes too
for no reflection could sustain you
but I’ll not bemoan this torn deformed
misnomered malady transformed
by breaking light or bending will
or leaping deftly to the sill
to cry aloud, “oh! You have gone!
And, as I feared, for far too long!”
No - I’ll sit as silent as you pass
As all these panes of placid glass.
Philosophical jive talking
Under mantles of dark stone
Your blessed presence is two-toned
But my thanks would never last
(half painted trim, half weathered glass)
just like any passing thought in
your long absence I’ve forgotten
just consider me that window
calling, begging, “oh look in! oh
if you could only see just how
transparent I can be now!”
a purpose full of faces that make
the most of narrow spaces. Break
my heart and break its panes too
for no reflection could sustain you
but I’ll not bemoan this torn deformed
misnomered malady transformed
by breaking light or bending will
or leaping deftly to the sill
to cry aloud, “oh! You have gone!
And, as I feared, for far too long!”
No - I’ll sit as silent as you pass
As all these panes of placid glass.