. . . at My Old Window Pane
Life, I'm wondering now, is all that was all I had in me?
All that I gave to others--some had fathers and mothers
But now at deserted window, I stand, so look at me
See through me, know me, just like the few that bothered.
Glancing toward life itself through my window pane.
When little steps took me to this widow sash
Wondering at ants, bugs, that I had to reason
I stood in happy times--at the bugs, I never mashed.
In Christmas here, a birthday there, just another season.
Passin' through my window pane.
In youth, my laughing, at silky things and garden swings
Hiding from a shadow of dragon fly's wings
Hearing my mother's Irish Lullabyes sings.
I'd stand not moving a muscle--not one hair.
Desperately clinging to silent life in the crack of my window pane.
My lovers were few and I was soon broken
Nothing from dark alley is free.
Seeing then that my love was just a token
And lay down quiet so I could see.
Wondering who sees in my window pane.
Passing by in shadows in my window pane.
Soft is the bajou's lure--while skeleton's dig for sudden cute
Watching the sparkle of birth, life, death and unknown
Valley's low on universe shine for failing perfume, it mutes.
I've always been unknown and never known
Always from the groan, always shunning the throne.
Bowing in my window pane
Crying silently in my window pane
Through my parlors, my animals sing
Through my dungeons, I believe
In rainfall letting go of life's flash swing
I thinks I'm failing, falling much rather to leave.
I gave away my beauty, voodoo charm, twinkle of eye
Feeling the stalking death's callus sting.
I am a woman, not werewolf, standing in sty.
Older years taught me care, joy, when babies ring.
I only stood from the rain
Kissing my old window pane.
this exercise in Abstract/Prose delves into two equal dimensions. One with natural life as we know it, the other yet to live. I am not your judge and certainly not your guide. Peace. Be at home before twilight.
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© 2018 Kenneth Avery