The Stains

April 20, 2004

Stains of wishes are squashed
on the glass of the past.
The hues are many, overlapped,
turned to a sickly brown,
still translucent in the sun,
though all are still distinctive.
See, one is slightly blue,
and look close at it to see
a picture slightly distorted
of youth and gaiety perfected.
In the greenish one,
see Ouija board nights,
when I loved the unseen to death.
The little tangerine speck
tells an epic in such detail
of when I wept seeds of dreams
from my overexhausted eyes.

I know you don't see this,
as these transparent stains
are only magically restored
when my eyes gaze upon them,
but trust me, they are there.