The Glass Wall

Glass walls and glass ceilings,

ever changing and ever confining.

Trying desperately to stop it all,

but there is no breaking the wall.

I patiently wait swimming in emotion,

waiting for this blasted contraption to make notion.

But all I can do is look past the wall,

uncertain as to what will happen at all.

At first, I never saw it, oblivious and nieve

But when I could walk,

I tried to talk,

and there was no reply.

Confused as to what was on the other side,

trying to hide,

I moved continuously to the figure on the opposite side.

When I got within an inch,

I could not help but flinch.

I could not reach the figure,

so carefree and graceful,

to the point where I was hateful.

For days, weeks, months,

all uncounted,

I pounded and pounded,

desperate for a way.

A way to live; a way to exist,

but it was all trapped in this wall.

For years after I tried to break it,

although the figure,

clouded and obscure,

thought I had faked it.

Finally, after so much trying,

so much crying,

I heard the voice of the figure from figure from behind the transparent,

locked door.

It scorned my indolence,

laughing at my diminutive attempts to span this invisible divide,

although I did not hide.

From that point on,

I dug fervently,

arms moving like clockwork,

so that I may finally reach my goal.

At first the wall seemed to become thinner,

but then it became thicker and more opaque.

Screaming in desperation,

begging for a revelation ,

the light became tainter and fainter;

I was alone,

alone in my own terrible suffering.

During my last days,

I simply sat there crying,

trying to understand why it all had happened.

The walls closed in,

breathing was harder,

and I feared I may soon become a martyr.

Surely I thought,

I shall pass soon?

No sooner than had I thought that,

a brilliant white light shone out from the middle of the room,

blinding me.

When I mustered the strength to look,

the scene before me was surreal;

a gleaming silver sword,

made of seemingly pure light,

although it was just steel.

The days of the wall seemed faint and distant,

at this point,

but I did not want to die by the sword.

I walked away,

but as I did,

a wall of flames erupted in front of me.

I smiled.

Now the forces of fate had given me two options of death:

cold, hard steel,

or

dancing, burning fire?

Preferring the fire over the sword,

I walked into the flames,

ready to die . . .

But I did not.

As soon as I had entered the flames,

all was taken away,

by an awakening;

the fire welled up in my brain,

hungrily licking the sides of my head,

in a desperate,

furious cleansing.

Soon, all was clean,

I found myself once more in my den,

the gleaming, white sword,

still in front of me.

However, things had changed.

No more was the I mere mortal

that had died in the fire;

I was there imbued with the power of the god’s fire.

I picked up the sword,

measured it, and fashioned a scabbard for it.

I maned it Nietono no Shana,

and put it away in its new home.

From a distance,

one may think that all memory of that figure behind the wall was lost;

it was not.

Now, this picture haunted me,

more and more,

until I was able to bear it no longer.

However, when I walked outside,

I found myself standing before this figure,

divine and simplistic in its beauty.

However, I simply turned my back,

and slowly walked toward the end of the world,

full of visions of life.