Through the Window
Never had she gazed upon such a revolting shade of blazing white,
Than that which she stares at through the window her mother had built.
A tiny, practically minuscule frame,
A glass opening into the frozen, wintry terrain
That had become the only reality they share
The chilling wind seeps through the fractures in the glass
And yet she had grown numb to the cold
She could attempt to swipe the glass of its neglected dust and grime
And yet she knows not to waste energy on this futile attempt
But no, but no…
She splinters this glass with the force of her fist
Ignoring the crimson that drips to her wrist
She squeezes through what she had left of frame
Driven by hope she desires to claim
Her toes touch the snow on this frozen terrain
And she looks up…
And she sees nothing.