Violetta Sunshine


The Window


My breath is written on the glass,
A colourless canvas of my life,
In a private gallery of my own,
Guarded by the black curtain of my soul,

My dreams are frozen within,
Some days they drizzle down the drain,
Or shrivel in the fire of the sun,
The breeze embraces me like a ghost,

These stains are my mark on the world,
Someday they may imprint the soil,
And walk amongst the pure air,

But for now I am a silhouetted spectator,
Beholding the moving painting of the land,
And lamenting that a window is not a door.

Submitted: Saturday, September 21, 2013
Edited: Monday, September 23, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

This poem is about someone with depression who is always sat by the window lamenting.

Comments about this poem (The Window by Violetta Sunshine )

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  • Sarah Rose (9/22/2013 7:03:00 AM)

    Thank you Unwritten Soul that means a lot to me. Yes this poem is how I really feel during my period of depression. (Report) Reply

  • Unwritten Soul (9/22/2013 12:44:00 AM)

    Amazing, i like the perspective you done on The Window...that speaks from your soul...this is original view! ..loved it_Soul (Report) Reply

  • Khairul Ahsan (9/21/2013 12:22:00 PM)

    Wow! I am amazed to see such a wonderful piece of poetry! 10/10.
    'But for now I am a silhouetted spectator,
    Beholding the moving painting of the land,
    And lamenting that a window is not a door.'
    Excellent expression! Love it. (Report) Reply

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