Windows. Such a glass,
it's a pane.
Look through, in and out of,
seeking similar vein.
Those found uncovered,
open or clear.
Have little substance,
nothing I need near.
The ones that are dark,
hidden or sneers .
Hold follies and fears,
worries and tears.
If open and secret,
they're far from complete.
Those that hide nothing
are far from discrete.
Within or out with
its not all the same.
A vision that is shared,
is not a shared pain.
