hope

Window Glass

I sit and stare

through the window glass.

It’s crystal clear,

except it’s not;

there’s a blurring fog.

 

The eyes try to see something

that I still can’t find.

They wander, like aimless travelers,

on paths, near and far,

that seem to lead

somewhere I’m not.

 

I sit and stare.

I’m right where I always was.