The Glass

“The Glass”
By: Joseph Michael Webb
October 29, 2009

The glass stands tall before my hesitant eyes
Like a giant glossy film over the painted wall
It speaks to me daily in a daunting voice
After I have awakened from restless dreams

It carefully conjures grotesque images
Of the reserved man I pretend to be,
The obviously sane man I ought to be,
And the fragmented soul I keep within.

The judicious glass tells me that I am too short,
Too markedly thin for anyone normal to love,
And too utterly worthless to compare to others.
This iridescent glass is the keeper of wisdom.

It forces me to curb my thoughts into the dark,
Reducing my figure into a disjointed pile of rubble.
This pathetic heap of trash is all that remains
Of someone unique and so undeniably great

I look into the glaring glass and put my fist into it,
Smashing it into thousands of polished fragments.
I will be a slave to a paltry sheet of glass no more,
For it is even more breakable than my delicate spirit.