Window

I sit and stare out the window of my room,

watching showers of gold dance

towards inevitable death upon the angry shadows

of man-made concrete malevolence.

Torrents of life fly through the air,

soil torn from peaceful slumber by destruction.

Dead and dying fingers of trees more aged than time

litter the restless path walked by troubled youth.

Trees moan in agony as they tilt and topple,

shattering.

Broken illusions lie side by side

with torn hearts and twisted dreams

upon the pavement, given no more thought

than the discarded cans and bottles

from foolish attempts at forced merriness.

Sorrow and solitude are masked by false gaiety;

the rush of long sought independence

clouds reason and forethought.

Among the forest carcass, callously raped and demolished,

walls of change are built.

Dreams and hopes will dwell in these halls,

some to grow, some to die, some to fade away and be forgotten.

Youth comes to learn of life, yet still oblivious to the death

surrounding that they call home.

I watch out my window, wallowing in the scent of leaves

changing from green to gold, seeing knowledge ripen

to foolishness, then to fade again to realization

of how little knowledge there is.

Much can be learned

from a window, safe behind the glass, without having to risk

the terrors of life.

Safe in my walls of knowledge, secure

in my invulnerability, I sit and watch.

I turn and stand,

stepping out the door.