Painted pipes peel shades of bark and dust

Corrosion fills empty blank voids

Six stringed musicians play loudly to

Drown the crowded conversation

Paths of wood meander and hinder

The uprising of four-legged flat backs

Beautiful shapes of glass take the forms

Of various angels and harlots

Short and stout, tall and tense

Sticks with gold and legs of ceramic pillars

Captured dead framed with smiles

Relived past memories of tin

Congregated segregations of philanthropic throws

Life as we know it

Belongs to the youth

Gaze Upon a Window

What do you see when you look out the window?
Do you see only two colours?
That of green and grey?
Grass and sky?
Do you see what is real and what is not?
Truth be told or imaginative plots?
Can you see the trees?
The way they mock young soldiers?
Brave and straight?
Or do you watch the cars instead?
Moving fast. Stopping. Starting.
Or in a steady movement rolling towards a destination?
Do you look out from the window?
Or do you shut your eyes and create your own world?
Is the window open or closed?
Do you enjoy the sounds along with the sights?
The leaves acting as chimes when the wind pushes them together.
The crackle they make.
In the winter when the snowflakes fall effortlessly,
And the pitter patter of the horses hooves through the heavy snow.
Or do you prefer a silent view in hope to bring peace?
What do you see when you stare out the window?