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Ode to a window (work in progress)
| Open Poetry #12 |
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Ode to a window (work in progress) |
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Master Senior Member
since 1999-08-18
Posts 1867Boston, MA 
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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).] |
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| © Copyright 2001 Andrey Kneller - All Rights Reserved | |||
Marge Tindal 
since 1999-11-06
Posts 42384Florida's Foreverly Shores |
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 |
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Master Senior Member
since 1999-08-18
Posts 1867Boston, MA |
Thanks Marge, check back later,ok? |
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Master Senior Member
since 1999-08-18
Posts 1867Boston, MA |
Should I leave it as is, or perhaps, add a bit more to it? |
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