Glory
Once upon a time,
I had a greater retention
I could view things in a wider scope
Like the sky’s great dome, I could comprehend it all
Slowly, grass grows outside the window of a half-buried room. Water has filled it to the brim and drowned the house’s inhabitants.
A realtor, in a golden coat, has placed it on the market as the home of ghosts and what was once a great mind, filled the walls with paintings that have no artist and given the deceased a claim to fame.
A crippled child hobbles up and down the cobblestone lane outside the blue room, touting papers that declare the end of the world, predicting the future as it arrives, and the child charges nothing for the news, since the profit would do him little good.
Down the street, two large boys charge small children for the chance to see the cripple walk, as small children think it a marvel when God places in front of them the staggering vision of the differences available in the mold, though when their parents catch on, they are dragged away, kicking and screaming, with such urgency that there is more insult in the removal than the act of charging, if the crippled was keeping score.
For children are at both ends of the spectrum of tolerance, accepting any who are different with a remarkable grasp of love or tormenting mercilessly anyone who appears to be outside the normal spectral range, while parents know only how to hate and fear and be deeply disturbed, but, as adults, are capable of hiding this behind the forced tolerance that children do not yet know.
The crippled child, unaware of the money made at his expense, hobbles home and is swept into the arms of his over-doting mother, and though he tries to greet his father with all the normalcy he can muster, all the old man can see is a child who will never play for his favorite football team.
And inside the water-damaged house, the ghost lingers, full of regrets, and spins a web of metaphors, to hang in the window and shimmer in the sunlight, and beckon with words known only to those dark stars that appear at night without ever being seen.
I had a greater retention
I could view things in a wider scope
Like the sky’s great dome, I could comprehend it all
Slowly, grass grows outside the window of a half-buried room. Water has filled it to the brim and drowned the house’s inhabitants.
A realtor, in a golden coat, has placed it on the market as the home of ghosts and what was once a great mind, filled the walls with paintings that have no artist and given the deceased a claim to fame.
A crippled child hobbles up and down the cobblestone lane outside the blue room, touting papers that declare the end of the world, predicting the future as it arrives, and the child charges nothing for the news, since the profit would do him little good.
Down the street, two large boys charge small children for the chance to see the cripple walk, as small children think it a marvel when God places in front of them the staggering vision of the differences available in the mold, though when their parents catch on, they are dragged away, kicking and screaming, with such urgency that there is more insult in the removal than the act of charging, if the crippled was keeping score.
For children are at both ends of the spectrum of tolerance, accepting any who are different with a remarkable grasp of love or tormenting mercilessly anyone who appears to be outside the normal spectral range, while parents know only how to hate and fear and be deeply disturbed, but, as adults, are capable of hiding this behind the forced tolerance that children do not yet know.
The crippled child, unaware of the money made at his expense, hobbles home and is swept into the arms of his over-doting mother, and though he tries to greet his father with all the normalcy he can muster, all the old man can see is a child who will never play for his favorite football team.
And inside the water-damaged house, the ghost lingers, full of regrets, and spins a web of metaphors, to hang in the window and shimmer in the sunlight, and beckon with words known only to those dark stars that appear at night without ever being seen.
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