The Broken Window
I sit here by the window,
Staring out the broken pane,
Kids walk by, about my age,
They see me and whisper.
They shout rude things.
One picks up a stone and throws it,
It hits the wall to my right and bounces harmlessly into the dry grass.
I look at the stone 'till my vision blurs,
And in front of me is a girl.
Her eyes show sadness,
From more years than her face reveals.
Her shoulders sag from unseen burden,
And her skin is losing luster.
Her lips are pursed from unknown years, of watching her students fail.
Permanent trails run down her cheeks, from far too many tears for others.
Darkness rings her eyes,
From too many nights spent up, Crying, Hoping, Waiting, Worrying.
The sky above her head is red,
From all the blood she's felt, feels, will feel shed
And the grass beneath her feet is dry,
From all she feels her mother feel.
I try to reach out, to help, to comfort, to tell her its okay,
But my hand hits broken glass,
Rose blood drips,
Alas, it was only a reflection.
