The window flower was I 
that was placed upon the sill.
Always hungry for your light,
Always starving for your warmth—
For all I knew of you, for all my life, 
was what passed through the glassy barricade.
There was never enough of your light,
through this god forsaken pane,
to satisfy my desire 
of feeling your gleam shoot through my veins. 
From behind the glass I watched your stunning shine
reflect off the glare of silky webs weaved between the blinds
of this dusty window sill.
From behind the glass I watched your brilliant beam
find it’s way through the maze of branches from the trees
to give light to the ones beneath.
From behind the glass I watched your glorious glow
descend down to sleep in the earth below.
In the night, the moon borrows your undying light,
but tomorrow I shall see you again—
from behind the glass
of this dusty window sill.

A.C.

I could write you a poem
comparing you to a summer day,
but you’re so much more than that—
you’re so much more than I can say.
You’re there in the arrival of the dawn of day,
for you’re my sunrise when I wake.
Using your light, the sun will beam,
and the warmth of these rays seep through the seams
of the curtains that halt the light from coming through
the blinds of the window in my room
that block the view of the flowers that burst
as your illuminating light quenches their thirst.

A.C.

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