Window

Fortune holds

Like a fly on the pane,

Indecent translucence,

Like life, it's ingrained

With a terrible filth

That seeps out from the pores

To assault sensitivities

Imagined scores.

Perfidious thoughts

Scrape across the serene

To leave bruised aberration

Where little is seen,

To leave an impression

Across the cold glass

Where sunshine pale

Waits for morning to pass.

Marshalg

@thebach

30 July 2011