Outside my window,
in the darkness of the night,
lit with lights from the city, from the moon
lays everything.
Everything inside of me,
all in different stages of life and death.
Outside is all that is in me,
and all that I lack.
Hidden behind weighted glass.
My eye watch the constant dance.
hands ice cold,
keeping me from flying too far on this sorrow.
Face reflected then lost focus.
Somewhere someone is unfaithful,
someone is born,
someone dies.
Someone relishes a lover,
and another screams.
Out there is all that is screaming in me.
And all that ever comes from me,
is a sigh,
a silent tear.
A memory.
Another work of poetic art,
Not scene as my cry for help,
but expression of what was.
I scream silently and only the outside hears me.
It can see my dying.
