She watches you from her closed glass jar;
her untouchable hands are kissed from afar.
Grey clotted clouds hang from her sky.
Constrained; refrained; in pain;
tipping rain on her soul,
stopping her fly.
She's a ghost to your world
a distant affair;
she hangs to your coat,
like smoke in your hair.
Her eyes burn into your mind,
forcing you to hear-
her noiseless pleading, that falls
on your deaf ears.
As she pounds her glass jar
you stare up to the grey,
dreaming of her face
and all those wonderful days.
Lost, it fades; never re-appears
and those long winter days
consume you with your fears.
Fallen, she slumps, unable to breathe
an angel for you
that you are unable to see.
I'm a great believer in being able to see if only we looked but sometimes we need a good slap in the face. We get so embroiled in our own world that we never seem to acknowledge what is good; what we can achieve; what we offer to others. All you have to do is walk through the town and notice how many people don't notice you. It's almost as if they could walk through you, you don't exist, all that exists is the next shop and the person behind the counter who they will only acknowledge with a grunt. We seem to have become, for some, so engrossed in everything that is bad in the world that if there is no trust for anyone. If you went up to someone in the street and said hello to them, what reaction would you expect to get?
I wrote this poem, unfinished, just a collection of words at the moment, because I feel like I'm in a glass jar sometimes and that my eyes are the only thing that could possibly give me away. There are some of us who look into peoples eyes and some refuse to accept what they see; for the most part, we don't like to delve to deeply, in fear of what the outcome would be.
We are just a collaboration of humans holed up in the same place all trying to survive unnaturally.