There are times when I look out this window
and I only see the things standing in my way.
And I can't see the beauty of the rain.
Falling upon the leaves making the whole tree quake.
The eyes of all insecurities rest on my head.
And I scurry to the corner and bury what's left of my will
and then relax in pity.
And the wind rattles the window calling me.
As I glare to the pane,
the previous occupier of fear,
was being blown away.
And suddenly I want to go outside.
How small we all seem when life opens up her mouth
and swallows us whole.
No comments:
Post a Comment