Living in Glass

You live in glass,
exposed
yet seen less as a person
than a piece of art
to be examined
and interpreted
in a place where words have no meaning
except the ones others assign them,
where every act is a drama,
full of depth and mystery,
everyone guessing at the denouement,
at the secrets that oddly
are not there,

No, for you, struggle is struggle.
Joy is joy.
Fear is fear.
Need is need.

Simple things,
pried from the complexity of history
to expose the basics,
like a house stripped of siding and walls.

About this poem

Most of you who read regularly know I write as much to sort out feelings as to express them. Because for me, they are difficult to sort out sometimes. But once out, they are stupid simple. Because at our core, I think most of us are as simple as children, or at least, want to be.

Yes, that is my reflection in the glass. I was working in DC.

Tom