Saturday, December 28, 2013

Window to The Wind
By Rhonda Davis

A leaf trapped between a torn screen
the window pane withering wistfully
as unseen scars scratch into the leafs veins.

A snowflake on its way to the ground, forms as
it forgets how it is molded, holding only the memory
of the cold.

A rose's thorns pricking unknown thumbs,
bathing in the blood, as it grants its beauty to a table
and its lonely waiting vase, a very short display.

A man walking in the direction of the wind,
his wails unheard, unknown,  un-felt,
his feet unsure,  unsteady, unguided.

Windows, some up, some down,
some shutting out the cries when searched
for, not found.

A runaway needing a pathway,
choosing a road unknown with no fear,
to escape ears that refuse to hear,
what they truly fear.

A bag of dope slipping from a pocket
of no hope into the gutter ,
becoming one less useless
Minute spent numb. So numb.

A crumpled letter laying beside
a body devoid of life,
filled with the voice of one song
no longer able to belong, belong here.

A door opened letting in more
than a breeze, letting in more than the feet
of the love that left so long ago,
welcoming with ease.

A coffee cup unused, chipped but
Kept in the window, seen from below
Shining in the sun.

Windows, closed tight.