When one person dies, another is born.

When one requiem is given, another is taken.

When one pane is made, souls of sand weep.

One day, a woman is born, 

formed from molten grains of rock and marble, 

stained in color, 

with choices of few. 

Her birth was divine, 

yet she sobbed

Not unlike a newborn’s realization

of their own existence.

In a factory of steel and brick, a soul was given

 to a new window of life

sights of the other souls around it

allowed it to see what the taste of blindness truly was.

The woman would not grow,

 the woman would not cry,

 for she is glass, 

not so different from a Clerestory, 

glass that shows a picture.

Her nose was crooked and slanted,

 and her words were sharp and piercing.

 Every day was a worry,

 for she may splinter

 in a violent world as our own.

She did not pray, 

Nor

has she ever repented,

for God did not favor his creation, 

so her faith is given thinly.

A rough sandy mental for such a spectacle of art

made for quite the match

of a true mistake.

She was a monster

painted pretty, 

naturally made with the world around her.

 She was alienated from others, 

and forsaken

 of herself.

 Glass was her name, 

her voice, 

and her face. 

But her heart was something else,

 something more alive. 

She had feelings of hate 

malice to her appearance and form

wishing her soul went to a creation better suited for living.

Despite the irony, 

the lady of glass was not see through, 

she was a closed book 

with a perfect cover. 

She was praised for her shine of colors on a sunny day

but she was neglected on a dark night.

She enjoyed her time away from the eyes of other souls

 it allowed her to feel unremarkable,
to feel flesh and bone as others,

 to not be glass

But as glass does

She ruins it.

becoming dirty and dusty

 rough and rowdy

she was destined to become opaque.

As we all do.
She shattered.

 In the literal sense, she was a piece of art

 alive and speaking

But she was too brittle to continue

Perhaps that is why she cracked.

Her cause of breaking was unknown

 for not a soul cared.

 Strolling past her shards,

occasionally stepping on the woman of reflection

They only saw at her at face value,

 but now, more than ever,

 She was truly crystalline. 

This was everything she wanted,
and yet she was compelled to feel her soul break with her.

What a tragic joke

for a tragic world.