Stained Glass

Reds and greens,
orange and blue.
Different meanings in all,
including me and you.

This building's full,
of beautiful stained glass.
Gorgeous pictures,
awed by the mass.

So many people,
admire each window.
But none around one,
with the most glow.

I walk to the glass,
tattered with broken holes.
To me the most beautiful,
the one that represents me most.

The glass is so lovely,
with cracks of twenty-two.
Spreading around the picturers,
slowly they grew.

Scenes of horror,
scenes of lust.
Times of sorrow,
and breaking trust.

This window is so out of place,
around perfect, happy, and bright.
But I prefer this one,
it survived a fight.

This window has one similar man,
who lost many things.
Crying on the ground,
angel with torn wings.

This shows real life,
not some fools fantasy.
Broken, surrounded by windows complete.
This glass represents me.

Others glace at the glass,
and just walk on by.
Not taking time to see it's beauty,
Hard hearts wont even try.

Sure there's missing pieces,
and paintings of pain.
But that's what makes it unique,
still there, showing no shame.

Did it ever want to fall?
Crash down from the frame?
It was already broken,
what made it refrain?

A tear from my eye,
with a choke in my throat.
Then stood next to me,
a gentleman spoke.

"This is my favorite,"
"The beauty untouched."
"Representing the artists life,"
"He hated so much."

He pointed to the crack,
"with every break,"
"he'd throw a rock."
"Representing pain and mistake."

I looked at the man,
confused and shocked.
It could've been beautiful,
instead of mocked.

"Symbolism" he said,
"showing beauty feels pain."
"So people like you,"
"start to understand rain."

I had only a question,
"how did it not fall?"
He answered back,
"it held to the wall."

"No matter how broken."
"It still was strong."
"People thought it would fall."
"But it proved them wrong."

I looked at the man,
tears down my face.
"Thank-you for painting this,"
"showing breaking has grace."

The man smiled back,
"but how did you know?"
"A heart like mine," I answered,
"recognizes a hurt but beautiful soul."

"I saw the love in your eyes,"
"when you spoke of the cracks."
"The thankfulness there,"
"surviving these heart attacks."

I walked away, he yelled,
And blew a kiss.
"Always remember" pointing to the glass,
"You're never alone in this."

"Others may judge you,"
"because they don't understand."
"That you're strong and beautiful,"
"the war you fought was grand."

I held my wrist,
My own personal breaks.
Same as the artist,
representing pain and mistake.

I live by his words and art,
Holding together like the glass.
Seeing everyone's beauty,
Not their mistakes, or past.

And to this day I remember,
His words and a blown kiss.
A thankful artist,
who wasn't alone in this.

The artist designed all,
The glass in the room.
The most beautiful broken,
But surpassed the moon.

Beauty is in the broken,
When others walk by and don't care.
Offering inspiration for one's like me,
Offering a breath of fresh air.