The Fake Glass

They build a world with perfect view,

They live their lives,

But I see through.

The broken glass

Scatters images

Of my life’s remains.

I look beyond what eyes can see,

Spoken words, broken and free.

Fake glass upon the vision wall,

Fake truths—

I bear witness to them all.

I found myself as I stood still,

Upon this broken road,

The path unclear.

While broken hearts remained unmoved,

I carried all they left behind—

This wounded man

They left behind.

The glass seemed real.

The world stood still.

Behind the walls of fake glass, behold—

A man of faith

Unfolds his all.

He came to seek

What he could not find

Behind the walls

Of the fake glass lie.

I see his eyes,

Which mirror mine.

Before me stands

An image of he—

A mirror holding

What the eyes cannot see.

Though masks reveal

Where the man stood still,

They hide the wounds

He could never heal.

Love denied

For many years,

His breath held tight

Through silent tears.

His strength grew weak,

His ending near.

One moment more,

He tried to see.

A man appeared

Behind the glass—

A fractured soul,

A haunted past.

He reached toward him,

But touched no door.

The man he saw

Was himself no more.

The glass then cracked.

The image fell.

The truth emerged

From where it dwelled.

No perfect world.

No vision clear.

Only the man

Who still stood here.

He gathered pieces

From the floor—

The faith he carried,

The love he bore.

And though they left him

Far behind,

He found one truth

They could not hide:

The wounded man

Was never gone.

Behind the fake glass,

He still lived on.