Windowsill

Windowsill

A Poem by Wtlf101
"

Shadows, darkness, there is one way to view the light

"
Lean over the windowsill, see the plantations of
life below. Thicketed flowers, pouring dreams,
mellow prairies, slated skies. So much grace yet
if I were to look through a different windowsill
the view would be different.

The heart full of pure beat with each thud the
nerves retrieve, the pulse, muscles lock as they
tense, vocal chords stiffening-
Face glaring with contempt,
Dimples, cheeks, chin glowing crimson-
Pupils dilate, palms force into fists-
A step closer, one step closer-

The windowsill is a fair place to observe from-
all can be seen, all that is buried away.
Emotions of laughter or tears can be seen-gunshots
heard-

The prairie dog paws the earth's soils for a
hiding hole-chipmunks and squirrels prancing and
dancing as the soothing afternoon sun gleams on
the hides of their backs-soft whisper of the
waters falling, echoing through the barren skies.

Windowsill- look over the edge and look upon the
world with disconcertive interest.

One step closer--
The world goes black, fall to the ground, holding
oneself as oneself sprawls out with anticipation-
black out...just one step closer-

The windowsill-perched over yonder and watching as
the frame glistens white.

The trees lined with icicles, snow patting on
windshields, white splendid earth,
Clop-clop of snowshoes on trails that are hiked by
squirrels and chipmunks in the moist summer.

Windowsill-old and rotten, nails dangling out at
awkward angles, glass stained yellow, frame
molten--

The whirl-whirl of the siren's contrasting light
envies the moon's glow. The ever so delicate
speed arising on-an immediate stop- pull out the
body on the long trade made just for injured
mortal's soulless bodies-wheel it into the stories
of hospital brick above.

Windowsill-collapsing in upon itself as the ages
endure it.

Squirrels, chipmunks, snowshoes, blazed away-heavy
city lights blocking out the starts of the sinking
day- horns and hollers of the city folk arousing-
crude tones taking over the soft "eep" of the
chipmunk. The flag waves nobly above the graves
buried w/ served souls,
Red-white-blue,
White and red-
Red and yellow-

A windowsill-now gone as I look out through the
glass of the taxi's mockery-
humans buzzing, pigeons flapping-
I snap my head-
It goes by--
I must hurry as I collect myself-
Whirl-Whirl
-Hysteria
-Confusion
-A windowsill not placed in front of my lenses-
Tears rushing like the Niagara Falls-
I knew that soul-
I looked through that windowsill too long-
Now the windowsill won't come between me and
reality.

The whirl-whirl-
The blackout-
An explosion...or two-
The first of the war-
Mass amounts of celebration rocket the world-
The man was found afraid in his hole, so close to
his hometown.

A windowsill, I close the glass, shut it as I
drive myself away.

A windowsill,
September 11th,
Afghanistan,
Iraq,
Saddam-
A windowsill,
Closed and shattered as a new one forms-

I rise to the slate skies,
Away from the old sill-
I am for eternity now-
The Almighty with me-
My permanent unbroken windowsill-
Heaven (Faith)

© 2010 Wtlf101


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Added on November 18, 2010
Last Updated on November 18, 2010

Author

Wtlf101
Wtlf101

Mankato



About
I have graduated with a BA in Sociology. When I write, I prefer to write dark fantasy fiction with creatures such as vampires, elves, witches, and maybe werewolves. more..

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