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

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

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,
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-
-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

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,
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




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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