Stained Glass


Painted glass mosaics on the wall give the illusion that an artist 
a masterpiece.
But if you look closely enough you can see that there are shards stained
with the pain of memory and broken families.
Photographs leak through and reflect in your eyes and 
nobody seems to notice.

"What a beautiful piece of art!", the people say, as they crowd around
taking pictures 
if this picture
made of shattered pictures.

I want to scream.

I want to scream at the top of my 
with every breath that I have and when I'm finally done
I want to feel some kind of release.
I want to feel the way they do.
"What a wonderful piece of art!" I want to say.

But all I see is me
and him
and them
and us

Not us.

Shattered pictures of what used to be us 
all mashed up into one big happy family that 
nobody recognizes.

They don't see it.
They don't see the blood stains on my hands and on the glass
from when I balled up my fists and 
punched the frames with all of my strength
to make this wonderful piece of art.

They don't see that what looks like someone created,
was actually

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allets's picture

Nice Device

Human history as stained glass, framed, misinterpreted. Cool writing. U R welcum at PostPoems - Lady A -