The brush of ice cold fingertips leaves a red hot trail,
A window shatters into a million diamonds that float on the thick summer air,
Outside, the pellucid night reflects what is meant to be seen,
Inside the battered and weather-worn shack, the opacity blurs true emotions,
The anguish weighs down, bearing a tremendous weight no one person could carry.
It is as if a hurricane crashes down, forcing open the wooden door,
Or watching helplessly as a glass figurine falls onto the hard concrete.
Clinging on to what is left of a devastated past of memories,
Struggling to release the ever tightening hold, to come to a brighter future,
The distain slips away, receding like the last few icicles of winter.