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Open Poetry #12
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Master
Senior Member
since 1999-08-18
Posts 1867
Boston, MA

0 posted 2001-01-18 01:48 AM


Before this perfect square alone I stand
and I reflect upon its very meaning,--
it’s not a box.... an outlet!-- I demand
to be let out. The stars outside are gleaming.
The darkness makes it seem as if they blend
together with the window, thus deceiving
the mind into thinking that a hand
could touch the glowing stars and this believing,

the mind leaves a handprint on the glass.
The window is our link to the outside,--
it shows the eye the greenery of grass,
unlike the wall, which doesn’t yield to sight.
The window lets the sultry sunlight pass,--
without windows there would be no light,
and hence, no warmth. Each window has
four corners and four sides (each side

is tangent to two corners), which then form
four angles that are measured in degrees.
These measures are important when a storm,
with raging winds picks up the small debris,--
they make the windows strong and keep you warm,
and windows block the branches of the trees
that bend with raging winds out of the norm.
Thus windows are the messengers of peace.

The windows do of course require care,--
they must be clean or else they’re of no use,
you can’t see clearly when windows glare
with gold of dust. Thus sometimes you must use
a sponge to wash them clean. But be aware,
the dust will soon return for more abuse,
this dust is all around us in the air,--
it’s only purpose is to shade our views.

The windows can be opened in the day
to let the sunshine in with ray of gold.
The sunlight will submerge the room and stay
as though a guest who’s welcomed here uncalled.
And when the snow makes all the earth seem gray,
and when the breeze is simply just too cold,
and when you feel the need to hide away,
the curtains can be drawn to blind the world.

At night, they are like mirrors, they reflect
our every move and thus it often seems
when we are doubled by this strange effect
that we are living in the world of dreams,
where even parallels will somehow intersect,
where passion always finds hidden seams.
The eye-- the star, two points now connect
and hands, again reach up for silver beams.

------------------
Check out more of my poetry here: http://www.unknownpoets.com/db/authors/master  



[This message has been edited by Master (edited 01-18-2001).]

© Copyright 2001 Andrey Kneller - All Rights Reserved
Marge Tindal
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Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-06
Posts 42384
Florida's Foreverly Shores
1 posted 2001-01-18 08:04 AM


Master~
WOW ... lots of wonder and thought in this one already.
Please let me know when you feel it's done !
~*Marge*~


~*The pen of the poet never runs out of ink, as long as we breathe.*~
noles1@totcon.com


Master
Senior Member
since 1999-08-18
Posts 1867
Boston, MA
2 posted 2001-01-18 12:08 PM


Thanks Marge, check back later,ok?
Master
Senior Member
since 1999-08-18
Posts 1867
Boston, MA
3 posted 2001-01-18 02:28 PM


Should I leave it as is, or perhaps, add a bit more to it?
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