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Rated: E · Poetry · Contest Entry · #1676920
Written for "The Writer's Cramp" contest.
Who cleans the glass?
Who wipes away the poison,
The dirt, the danger?
No one I see.
And yet it reigns, supreme, pristine,
Above our heads.
Who cleans the glass?
Not me.
I eat, I sleep, I breathe.
I punch, I kick, I scream.
It remains unmoved, unflagging
In its perfect curve.
Keeping the poison out,
Keeping our poison in.

Who cleans the city?
Who sweeps the streets, fixes the buildings,
Washes the windows?
No one I see.
This place is still,
Like a portrait of metropolis.
No wind comes to stir up
The lack of dust.
There is no dirty;
There is no dirt.

Who cleans the people?
Who combs the hair, shines the shoes,
Slaps the wrists?
No one I see.
Living defeats life,
And life is all there is. Life and glass,
Glass suits, glass ties,
Glass hearts, glass eyes.
Glass rocks to shatter
What cannot crack.
Glass to keep you in, and drag you back.
Our shield from the evil
We can’t see, don’t know;
The evil that cleans the glass.

[40 lines]
© Copyright 2010 Ruby Vroom (cellophane at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1676920-The-Dome