Under A Dusk Sky

STAINED GLASS

Summer nights would come so warm, I'd lay and relive all the past
A senescence of memories—of summer nights and summer sweat;
Of salty air and salty lips; of sun-tanned skin and sun-soaked scenes,
Photograph of memories, developed yet forgotten aft.

Then I stood and stared afar, much more longer than before;
Thought about the time he lived, and hear the breeze whispered "Ian."
I know I'd cry yet here I smile methink about only one thing—
Although I know we live just once I still assume tokens reruns.

And then his death—a gentle hurricane that came a havoc
And I was as fragile as glass bounded to a window frame,
And when the hurricane onslaught, it broke me, almost was destroyed,
It only left a dent, a scar—a lining tells a tale not told.

I arrayed all broken pieces yet all the lines are visible
And hope—it never come to me, but only one thing came to me—
Change. Perhaps I need to change, I melted all the pieces left
Fragment after fragment there, in the fire, devouring me—

And what's left was still just me but colors change, like virescence,
A shade of blue, deep and dark, a shade of phthalocyanine—
Alike the sad and darkening clouds suspending overhead.
And that vague lackluster glimmer in his eyes reflecting me.

I was bounded here again, in a window frame of brass,
And I was not like before, buoyant and an open book—
Tinted, darkened, closed, and bare; not one, someone even dared—
To look through me and talk to me, nor ever wonder still 'bout me—

Wonder still about my life and ask what life had I descried;
I never thought I'd be this way, I never knew I'd be this way,
Changed and tinted in the color I have never been afore—
Never vivid and never chaste, always was just a stained glass.