Would you see through me if I were made of glass?
Or would you shatter my clear veneer, splintering any chance of a window paned existence?
Would you let me sit…fracturing…refracting…deflecting our world?
The eternal light bender.
Please let me be your window. Don’t break me before I am lodged in that west facing panel of your home.
The sunset’s portal?
I can be the worldly explorer framing life.
I will take the brunt of societies wrath.
I will filter you images distorted by fraction and reflection.
A picture paned existence slightly more bearable than unfiltered reality.
Honesty will be mounted, scaffolding your allotment.
Glass stained with societies dye.
Can I be your window?
I would love to dwell beside the photo frames that paint your picture perfect life.
A window for your soul?