Broken Glass
The glass doors are closed, however still shinning in the light,
They are colourful, yet faded,
From the passing years
The latch still remains strong, not letting anyone through.
Though many have tried,
Only few have come close.
The fingerprints on these doors will not wash away,
Every chip, scatch and crack
Is here for all to see.
Yet the doors remain strong and standing tall.
Only crying on the inside,
For glass is not meant to weep.
The rain beats softly against theses doors, yet no water comes
The hail chips away, with all its might
Yet no marks are left.
Yet, a simple stone is thrown at the doors, and they shatter.
The very stone of hatered,
A stone of an untruthful life.
The mask hiding behind the doors is revealed, and no one stays behind.
The wall surrounding the doors
Begins to crumble.
Everything fades, and soon, all thats left is the braoken latch and a tear
steaked mask.
The wall can be rebuilt,
And the mask, remade.
Latches canbe restored and repolished, but even with a thousand pieces of
tape,
Or a hundread gallons of glue
The glass doors can never be repaired,
With the light still shinning through.