Windows

Like the portal void into another's world,
To witness another's experience, from the "comfort" of our own.
Outside the rain beats down, trees so dead and bare.
The wind whipping litter from the city streets,
Lit only from the cold orange glow of the street lights.

So like us,
We are the world we created.
The mess, the torment, the fear,
Terms like depression has lost all meaning.
Without depth this world is, empty, cold, desolate.

Perhaps the time of year fails to inspire happiness,
Maybe I express my inner essence to much.
Could the climate influence my very being?
What has become of this world before me?

Comfort can be found in the strangest places.
Company, warmth, subsistence with deep connections,
Makes me daze at the thought of the oasis awaiting me.
With a gentle smile brought back to my face.
I remember the little things through the days.
Loving friends conversing, hours after hours,
From TV to their precious delicate heartstrings.
Ending with a hug, as the cheery on a cake.

My eyes tell a story of life, love and poetry.
Just like the lenses of our body,
Are the windows onto our soul.