Stained Glass Window

So, I wrote this poem — to be honest, it isn’t very good at all… so don’t judge me.  But I really felt like writing something so I just whipped this thing out and here it is.  Hope you don’t think it’s TOO terrible…

Watching rain through a stained glass window

I see the shapes, but the details dwindle

I am alone in this dark, dark building

There’s not too much that could alter this melding

There’s nothing here but loneliness and sorrow

I can’t see anything and my reach is narrow

Someday I want to look into an eye that really cares

Someday I want to see and avoid these vicious snares

Why doesn’t anyone hear me

Cannot they hear when I cry I want to see

Couldn’t someone come and turn on these lights

They’re there but I can’t find them in all these endless nights

See me, see me, hear me, hear me

I want to know that I’m not really alone

I want this to cease

I’m merely sore to the bone.

So, the metaphor “watching rain through a stained glass window” sort of has a history.  This one time, I was emailing my good friend and that popped into mind.  I thought of that feeling you get when you look at a stained glass window, or when you’re watching rain fall through any window.  It just feels gloomy, lonely, like all there is is you and the rain, and the rain is outside.

So my friend loved the metaphor, and used it in her writing.  Copyrighted, of course — via permission from the term’s inventor.  Anyway, we just think “watching rain through a stained glass window” is a beautifully poetic metaphor, so I thought I’d use it in a poem.  Hope you liked it!



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