Looking out …
from the gilded cage
cast from his possessiveness,
and sealed with bars of rage,
she peers through her
misty morning window
at the rain that mimics her tears
her pain of glass as brittle
as her heart of gold
burdened with the sadness of the years,
realising she is suddenly old…
her reflection dwells on the fact
that we can never go back.
If only…
if only…
O! to once again
stand on that corner of decision
and walk the other way
to be born ten years earlier
or even, just one day….
Hours can be the difference
between loneliness and love
and seconds define the abyss
that divides the below
from above…
and the bellow
from the laugh
If only…
If only…
