No silver on which to bounce back the reflection which

Hides behind its transparency.

Clean the glass. Wipe away the streaks until it glows.

Then take another look to see what shows.

A streak remains? Or is it a smudge that darkens the pane?

What's there? What secret cringes fearing to be seen?

Envy, perhaps, greed? Worthlessness? Hopelessness? Hidden dreams?

Missed opportunities peer back through the glass it seems.

The havoc wreaked by a life lived too fast, racing past.

Who could have imagined such devastation could be seen through a clear pane of glass?

No clear pane of glass is ever so seducingly mystical than

When when you stare intently into its beckoning crystal.

No clear pane of glass can hide the hurts and fears of

A broken soul's mournful weeping through eyes dimmed by salty tears.

Does it matter on which side of glass you are,

Or if the pane is plain or if there is a glaze?

No clear pane of glass can shield nor guide you

Through the unnumbered days of life's twisted maze.

It doesn't matter which side I'm on when I press my face to the glass,

I cannot glimpse the future, I can only dimly perceive the past.

©2010 Rosalie M. Taylor