Through the Glass

Just an old window in my city.

Crisp quick cracking against my face and the billow of smoke that hits me,
how I wish I was a door!
Used by all to enter and exit, bringing opportunities, news that's bad or good, friends, family, foes alike, food and drink or a comfort or two.
I could keep you safe, secure, alone, together, whatever you would want, your cure with a slight twist and turn.
Instead the weather gives me a shudder, crack, or break.
Oh how I wish I was a book!
Bringing a moments reprieve, knowledge, language, history or a short break.

To be held and warm, touched, and cherished, forever to be told.

Instead I am very cold or hot and touched shortly with discomfort.

How I wish I was a tree!

Admired for beauty, climbed, caressed, free and happy to provide shade and a home. 

Instead eyes see right through me, only staring, stretching to see the past. 

A gateway to the memories of doors broken, shattered, splintered to the screams they locked inside, these trees of beauty wrapped with nooses and hacked for fires, the warm hands on the book changed to disgusting malice, turned to hot embers all carried away to brush my face. 

Oh how I'm happy I am me.

Author's Note

Commas are intended for the flow. Be very critical. :)

Reviews

[Terra]

Really good I loved it! Keep on writing.

[tlaner]

Thanks. I am trying to do something with writing.

[Terra]

Well keep going!