Stained Glass Window

Standing in the chill
Of stone cold ruins
Of something once beautiful
Something once strong
That now exists only in dreams
And memories of times past
Is a man

It’s difficult to say
When things began to crumble
When the frescoes peeled away
With drops from the leaky roof
And when the contents of the home
Once so full of promise
Began to rot and wither

Year had rolled onto year
And the happiness had died
Weary were the occupants
Holding onto brokenness
The toxic seeping through
Every wall, ceiling, floor tile
And the man still stood

Winters, springs
Summers, autumns
The never ending monotony of
Going through the motions
Weary, unfulfilled, cold
Walking through the gothic shack
That once was home

Busying himself with
Work that never fixed
Time that never was enough
Stretched unbearably thin
The man carried on
As rot and storms and time
Bore their way through the stone

He saw what had become
Of the dream he had once held
But still sadly he stood there
Knowing full well that
His home was now nothing more
Than piles of broken hopes
And unfulfilled promises

Staring at a stained glass window
That faced the west
And sometimes let beautiful light
And a little warmth into his chaos
He would dream of the sun
But still kept himself hermitted away
Choosing darkness over light

The view through that window
Was tempting and intoxicating
The delicious light it let into
The frigid dark within brought color
And the illusion of life and beauty
And he saw through the panes
Sunlight and warmth he longed for

He stood motionless
Staring mostly silently
Bothered that he would have to choose
To stay put in the ruin
That was his life
Or to break through the window
To reach the sunlight outside