Store Windows

Panes of glass tease with their eye baubles
dressed and decorated to be a glance at paradise,
our minds reach through that clear covering
and wishes grope what lies inside.

Without senses engaged to deter the fantasy
it all become a perfect touch to our thoughts,
just aching inside to possess what is seen
until it becomes our dream, our heaven.

Days spent wandering by that window
each a journey to a play land
where what we saw becomes our happiness
then it consumes, dominates, utterly controls our time,
if we never own what we want
our insides will rot and we will be a shell,
nothing let to breath or care,
totally ruined from the lack
of holding what we made our god.

By chance or plot the day comes
at last we stand completely transfixed
while they remove the item from the display
prepare it for sale and then hand it over to our hands.

In the feel comes the plain reality
because no longer does our imagination
make the item radiate with such intensity,
it loses any luster, that evaporates
since it was never there,
returning to the sidewalk
to meander in our brokenness with crushed hearts.