Through the Window
Everything is connected. Everything matters.
Windows are doorways for minds filled with longing,
Their glass houses gateways to change and to new.
To open that portal, to find fate’s belongings
Are choices no one can make except for you.
I opened my window and followed my feet
To a world where the houses and chapels lay still,
Where the grass and the clouds all had names, and the streets
Stretched like veins towards silent and towering hills.
I wandered the streets; all the houses were bare,
And the pathways were broken and layered with dust.
This world seemed forgotten; I walked here and there
Watching the sun rising, skies ablaze with rust.
Butterfly sentinels guarded the way,
And stones dotting the path were encumbered with vines.
My arms stretched out to welcome the alien day,
My feet stumbled and faltered to climb the incline.
To the top of the hill, high above tops of trees:
The oak and the alder, the beech and the yew,
Their limbs reaching out to me beyond the freeze
Of the night of this empty world I wandered through.
The rust turned to grays of the morning’s pale chill,
The gray drifted into the sky and turned red,
It’s soft crimson burning above the old hill,
The deep colors echoing lives now long dead.
The stones on the pathways, they glowed and they hummed,
Their music and lights were like ghosts in the dawn,
And I fell to my knees, yes, I all but succumbed
To the spirit of this world's emptiness foregone,
In the morning, the brilliance of this quiet place.
My eyes opened wide, I saw visions appear:
The light of the foreign sun lit up my face
And my past and my future suddenly became clear.
I am one with the everything, I’m one with the naught,
My body and mind are but pawns in a game
That this world, like my own through my window, forgot:
Every web has an ending, a start, and a name.
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