The Window

You speak about it
As if it were a portal
To your potential

What lies through it
You see, oh God, you see
Yet you cannot touch
Or breathe
Or be

Waiting and wondering
When will someone come
To lift the pane / the pain

‘Til you wake
Should you wake
To the window’s truth

There is no savior
Pushed-up sleeves
No unsung hero
Only you

Still you deny
Who am I
To set myself free

It’s been so long,
Painted over, nailed down
Prematurely bound

Yet, in the stillness
Before the pane
You come to believe
“There is no path to freedom
That does not go through me”

So you come to the frame
Feeling, groping
Raging into time-worn sutures
Shaking, heaving
Teasing
Kneading

Bathed with effort’s dew
Flesh on wood
Slowly
It yields

Yawning open
You breathe
Shallow, testing sips
Then deeper / Deeper
Inhaling possibility
Potential once obscured
Now revealed

Exhaling the wail
Of loneliness and futility
A complacent disconnection

You pause
Lean in, and look
No longer apart
But not yet a part
Of that world
Out there

And then it happens
Reality tumbles softly over the sill
Into the reservoir
of your crossed legs
Conspiring into the soul

To what use
Asks its voice
Will you put this portal

Will you simply sit, and gaze
Flirting with the scent
Of a life that calls
Illuminated, yet still
Sedated

A denizen of breath and sight
Subsisting on wisps of essence
Yet never taking your seat
With friends
To feast
To weave
To span the chasm
From what if
To this shall be

Or will you
In some way, your way
Traverse the frame
To set ablaze
A world that
Only you can claim

And then you notice
A deeper truth
The window, it seems
Is not an end, but an invitation
A passage to invention

It was never about the window
But the will to step through it
And then you wonder
How can I
And then you realize

How can I not

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