Stain Glass Windows

Cold to the touch,
solid against my pale finger tips,
the colors of a vicious past,
looking in; I flinch at their significance.

Sharp shapes of patterns;
blood red glass emitting a glow,
tapping my finger nails upon their fragile bodies,
and the echo chanting memories back to me.

To walk along the display,
their secret solitude of cloudy representations,
my eyes scan their austere characteristics,
and my countenance blurs in their colors.

Grass green and angelic yellow,
musing the rare pleasures I recall,
faint assumptions of joy and tranquility that once existed;
I come to the next window and they fade.

Unpuzzling their entrancing mazes,
adding up the clues to move on wards,
to create a new stain glass window for my future self to look into;
the gold-glassed window of happy memories.

© Gurdy x (GoddessOfWings)