Monday, July 27, 2015

Living in My Glass World

This is a very long poem inspired by as song that a friend played called 'River Flows in You" by Yiruma. For some reason it made me think about glass, so... yeah. Enjoy!

As I look through a glass window,
Staring up at a glass sky
Thinking about all these glass people
So much glass…

Some glass things are broken or chipped,
Other things are stained glass.
Still others are pure crystal.
All glass things tingle when they break…

Tears are just pure crystal.
But do the tears of glass people really fall?
Do they make out of those pure glass eyes?
Do the tears of glass people really exist?

When those glass tears fall,
They tingle like the sound of a broken heart.
As I watch those tears… 
I feel it too.

The clouds I stare at halfheartedly
They are glass too, I know.
The rain that falls
That’s glass.

I am just a broken glass doll.
I live in a broken glass world.
A world of broken glass tears.
And broken glass hearts.

It’s gray here.
Gray and a shade of sterile white.
The light that comes in is too bright.
And I feel so small.

Nothing is green in this broken glass world.
No hope,
No color,
No life.

I am black and white.
I am made of glass.
I am lost in this broken glass world.
Floating with the tears.

All these stained glass windows
--they are broken.
I broke them.
Not on purpose, but with tears.

Each tear is heavy
And breaks glass.
But truth being told,
Just the clink of a hand is all that it takes.

All that it takes for one heart to break.
All that it takes for this broken glass doll to leave tears in her wake.
Tears that are glass and cut down her face.
So all that you see is the canyons they carve.

And all that you hear is the soft weeping sound that they make.
In this broken glass world, it’s so hard to believe
That I’m stained glass.
Pure, chosen and clean.

When all that you see is in grey and in white,
Canyons of broken glass tears
Lost hopes and lost dreams.
And all you can see is made of glass.

I feel like an impostor.
Like all the other things that are glass are better.
Like they aren’t as chipped and broken.
Like they are better than me.

As I walk through my glass world,
I meet the Master Glass Blower. 
He is doing what he does best.
Blowing glass.

I whisper in my tiny glass voice.
“Why do you keep creating?
Can’t you see everything is a mess?”

“Why don’t you just start over?
What you’ve made—was good
But now it’s broken.
Just fix it now please.”

“When you’re done,
Then you can get done with your creating.
You can start fresh!
With a clean new slate.”

“That would be better I think.
So that the new glass things wouldn’t have to live here.
Here with all us broken glass things.
It’s just better that way.”

The master glass blower smiles.
“Don’t you worry child.”
He says with a grin in his eyes.
“I know what I’m doing.”

Behold. I am making all things new.
These broken glass things—they are not too far gone.
They don’t have so many cracks that I can’t fix them again.
I am the Master Glass blower—and I know what I’m doing.”

“You see, I sent my son.”
When the Master speaks of his son,
It is heartfelt I know.
Because of the tingle in his voice.

My son came to save all my glass creation.
I knew that you where all broken and chipped,
So I sent him out there to save you all.
Out of my great love for my creation—I sent him.”

I look up at him,
With crystal coming out of my eyes.
Not sure what to say.
But feeling the canyons they carve.  

“Master, I’ve heard that story.
That was so long ago.
It was saved then!
But now it is not.”

“There has been more broken since then.
More pain.
More times that your glass things have fallen.
We don’t fall pretty you know.”

“The world was probably stained glass then.
It was probably beautiful and clean.
But now it is not.
It’s broken again.”

“Now it’s dirty and gross.
It’s broken and chipped.
It doesn’t have purpose
Other to cut or to bleed.” 

My thoughts sounded silly when they came out of my mouth.
They sounded tingly and scratchy.
When the master talked,
It was strong and commanding.

Said the master.
The old has passed away, the new has come.”
“Put your faith in me—for I am making all things new.”

With those words.
Spoken with power and passion.
Spoken like a loving creator,
I chose to believe.

Before my wandering eyes
--as if shades where lifted.
As if I had once been blind but now I could see--
The world was made new.

Not just a little new—but all new.
The dirty glass floor was now a golden hue.
The grey skies where now made of diamonds.
The Sun was now actually shining.

I looked down at my hands.
They weren’t chipped—but full of color.
Made of things like amber
And clean pure crystal.

In the strangest of ways,
My faith changed my sight.
I once had been blind,
But now I can see!

I once had to manage a dark little world,
But now I could see.
See the stained glass in everything
And the hope in the morning.

I could see the vivid colors,
Each morning sun brings.
The pinks and the purples,
And how it rises on wings.

I can not only walk,
Now I can fly!
And not only that—
I can soar like an eagle.

I now have hope.
I now have peace.
And I know now the truth.
All is being made new.

I just needed faith to see it.
Hope to believe it.
To slow down and speak to The Master.
Now I know.

All is made new.

~Rachel Joy 

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