Glass House
Our clan is crumbling
behind closed doors
sealed with pride
and locked by sorrow,
seen by all
yet known by none.
The walls are glass
but windows opaque
reflect suspicion
with a smile
that will never reach the door.
A perpetual lock
with a key broken by
polite declinations
and misinformation,
hangs like a cross
around bare throats.
Loneliness is the veil
that covers our eyes,
and slows our heartbeats
as we wait
for the self-imposed walls
to finally shatter.
This poem is about:
Me
My family