Broken Window

Outside looking in
is not what I thought
it would be –
a pale reflection
ghosts still alive
silently haunting me.
Shards of glass
betray my secrets,
pieces of my soul;
words unuttered
abused and misplaced
forgetting what they hold.
I see what passes
for time before me,
on whisper-thin thread,
and through the window
looking out, see
the spirit that’s been bled.

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