The Window
I can't believe that my last entry was in January. I have been unfaithful to this blog, but I have tried to be faithful to life and other people. Naturally, I'd prefer if the first poem in a while would be one full of hope, but this is the poem that I wrote. Enjoy it, if you can.
The Window
The door is open
Almost transparent
Propped up with a wedge.
There is truth in that
But also in
The window.
What can be seen inside
Should be taken for granted.
A desk, a table lamp.
Undecorated. Nothing special.
Feel attached to the items.
Feel free to touch them.
They are not yours alone
To touch.
The books you thumbed
Have been touched by a hundred hands
And the hands were greedy
Like yours, too.
They wanted to hold the books
And claim them forever
Like mine do.
There is truth in that
But also in
The window.
The chairs are comfortable
Until you find that others
Were offered a seat before you.
When you were not there,
The leather chair held someone
And kept them firmly close.
There is truth in that
But also in
The window.
Because the window is always open as well.
And beyond it are too many trees.
Those who leave by the door
Signed the book
Left a name and address.
The wood is harsh.
Beyond the window
Too many trees.
The furniture
That gave comfort to all
Betrays the guests.
Of all the guests
It is always
ONE TOO MANY
That leave.
Because everyone is invited.
No one should leave.
But people do.
One is too many.
And the book by the door
Remains unsigned.
It is left with
Blank
Missing
And the wood is deep.
I yell to the wood.
There is truth in that
But also in
The window.
Here's my hope for today, for people of the internets. Walk out and be happy. Find the person closest to you and hold them for 5 minutes. You don't have to say anything, and neither do they. Most importantly, remember the warmth of them. That warmth of another has no proper name, but you can think of your own.
I'll stop rambling now. Posts will follow this one. I hope to have something funny for you next time.
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