My Window

A window can let oneself sing
About the luckiness of a clover
And of what good, or bad fortunes can bring,
But my life, my story, is finally over.
Why do I share my story with you,
The ones who made me like this,
But I’ll tell it anyway which it is honest and shrewd
And I’ll say my story with bliss,
So listen carefully, for you might seek
Of The answers to which I dare not speak,

From my window I see
Places higher than my tree
And makes life feel so free
To everything around me.

I look up to see the open sky
Or look down to see an ant walk by.
Why leave my window, I won’t lie,
This is my place, I do not feel shy.

And yet I find some things strange
How quickly these seasons change
From the birth of life of all
To the withering of things to small
So small down to the very last crop
Like a drunkard searching for his last drop
Of things for him to keep going with his life
Or maybe, just maybe, going home to see his wife.

White flakes falling through the air
Especially in big clumps can give me such a scare
Then to laugh and laugh and don’t really care
But all life is not fare.

My window carrying truth comes on cue,
This to me was such a terrible sight
Of a girl who gave up everything she knew
This was not at all, right.

I saw her stand on top of the mountain
Seeing her look down into a fountain
Of white water frozen and mare,
I wished she had not made me dare.

I tried to stop her you see
But through my window she can’t hear me
Of all the noises and screaming
I wished I was dreaming.

But dreamed did I not,
She came down like a gun shot
Hurtling towards the snow below,
I wish she did not go.

The floods that are created from my eyes
Are distracted from my thought and sighs
Though I hear faint sounds of windy bands,
My eyes see the blood on my sinful hands.

Now I lie here on my floor
To which will be my grave
That is farthest away from my door;
I can never, and will never, be saved.
The door moves farther away
Though it is not me that is moving,
I am lying here like a ship at bay
And I hear tears which are so soothing.
Each tear I make tells a story
Of which I can only hear
About past tales of triumph an glory,
Which I now ignore from the fear.

I wondered what made her do that
To leap as easily as a cat,
Though this thought kept me pondering,
But do not think of me as confusing,
Only ideas that are made kept me wandering
And the ones that are carried out can be abusing.

Then I realized what is really beautiful,
The fact that my life was pitiful
Feeling her rage and her distress
No more do I need to rest,
Even though I thought myself as the best,
And though she has put me through this test,
Again, no more do I need to rest.