Windows
Words are windows.
String them together
& they just might make a picture.
One that describes
What’s really inside.
Poetry makes sense to me.
It writes between the lines,
Discovering those inner parts
So often hard to find.
Lyrics bring out sympathies
I may have left behind.
Forming ideas through little notes
Beautifully intertwined.
—
Maybe words are windows
Of the extraordinary kind.
—
So carefully these windows piece
My worldview all together.
Describing life from my own eyes
Uncovering what’s been fettered.
—
These window panes are written
With words that make it clearer.
That when I look through hard enough
I discover it’s a mirror.



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