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I am a student with big dreams and ambition, who enjoys writing for fun. Any constructive criticism or positive feedback is always welcome!

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Constructive criticism and positive feedback is always welcome!

glass heart, glass doors, and the Iron Bannister

February 4, 2017

PROMPT: Becoming Human

The boy leaned over the iron bannister,
--- But only to me was he just a boy ---
He looked out into the darkness.
The grey sky concealed the stars,
And he stood slouched and broken
For the first time he seemed

I had watched him before,
Watched from the edge of the glass paneled door,
Fluttering in the wind.
Spying on the boy -- my boy--.
He stood by the iron bannister often,
Looking out at the sky, the stars, the moon,

His back turned to his kingdom:
His responsibilities.

I had watched him before.
The years had passed,
Dust had collected beneath me.  
But I was there,

I had seen all his failures,
But they talked only about his triumphs,
And I couldn’t say anything
About how he wasn’t perfect,
And he struggled too,
Just like everyone else.

I would flutter in the wind as they aired out the room,
And they would talk:
As they made his bed,
Or cleaned his marble floor,
Or folded his tailored clothes,
Or organized his ties and silver cufflinks,
They were oblivious.

They never talked about the time he spent on the balcony,
by the iron bannister.
Only I knew of that.

Only I knew of the girl
With the pretty blue eyes.
The girl who would climb the tall oak tree,
It’s trunk several times her size.
My boy would take her hand,
And gently pull her onto the balcony.
Waves crashed, emotions spilled,
He was safe in her loving embrace
And she was safe in his.

Hours had passed and still I watched.
He hadn’t moved from the iron bannister,
And the stars still hadn’t come out,
The bright diamonds that would glow in the dark sky.
In their place there was nothing.
His glass heart was shattered,
Emerald orbs dulled as he
Looked out at the dark, empty sky,
Looked down at his crimson stained hands,
It was Her blood.

My boy began to shake, tears welled in his eyes,
He went to wipe them away,
But he saw the blood on his hands.

My boy turned around violently,
Eyes darting around the balcony,
He took two steps towards me
And without even a second thought or glance,
He ripped a piece of my fine silk,
And now I too was stained with loss.

He turned back around as fast he had come,
And resumed his vigil.
The boy looked down at the ground,
At the perfectly trimmed grass,
It was black and bleak...
The wind blew through the open doors,
That had been thrown open in his rage,
Silk shifted and I could no longer see the boy.
I wrote this poem for school in in which we had to tell a story from the perspective of an object but make the object seem lifelike and give only subtle hints at what the object is.


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