I'm looking at a window
There isn't anything special about it
This is just a window
Just a think pane of glass
in a hard metal frame
A monument to confinement
allowing us to see the sky, see the trees,
see the breeze
but feel nothing
This window is a paradox
forcing all senses but sight to the sidelines
We see everything (but the window) outside
but we are not outside,
are we?
We are inside
looking out
From this window
After all, what purpose is there
for a window to exist but to be looked at?
This window is an eye
They say that eyes are windows
to the heart,
doors to the soul.
If windows are the eyes to the world,
why can't I see a heart?
Why is it that no matter how hard I look
At this window
No matter how many times it opens
there is no soul?
I can stare straight through it
and from here I can see:
four lamp posts
two cars
a dog
and a road.
And they can all see me too
From this empty window
This window is a puzzle
A piece of a puzzle
thousands of pieces
millions of eyes
staring blankly from every angle
seeing everything,
hiding nothing
nothing to hide
This window is an exit.
This window is an entrance.
to the world
a small push through the membrane
to break it
to fall screaming and bloody
into the world
This window is a killer
A soulless, heartless killer
and I'm sitting here
staring it right in the face.
