Windowed

 his mind is very successful

in making memories more

than what they ever could have been

making those memories into fuel

to feed a wild fire within his heart

with burning crimson coals still to this day

he stares at the window as if it is

the fated one he lost to time

as if he could reach out and take that hand

in his own and feel the warm blood 

running through veins instead of

smooth stark cold glass encasing the gray sky

he hears the rain tapping on those panes

as the voice he longs to listen to

a breath whispered beside his ear

releasing all that was tangled inside

all that caused the great fall into the abyss

and pale feet walking into the dark

he would have gladly listened, gave anything

to listen to those words to take it all away

but there again his memories are more

than what they ever could have been

and the touch of the cold glass and

tapping rain's voice will have to suffice