Whipping Windows And The Flame Of Hope Poem by Loreta Muskardin

Thick metal bars, stonewalls and two stern windows
Like deep, black eyes watching me. Tempting me.
From my safe place at the small, rain-covered, tiled square
I stare at those mysterious eyes, wondering what is inside.

I hear a sound. Is that a weep, lamenting cry or call for me?
I move closer, glance to the right and to the left. And now I see.
I see the flowers and high pedestal and a large globe and a flame.
I see the vast space, clouds and a portion of bright blue sky.

“What is that? ” I ask and the gentle reply arrives. “Hope”
I turn back, and hear again “ It is the Flame of Hope” voice said.
I move my eyes away, from warm radiance of the charming flame.
In front of me I see again, these black iron eyes that tempted me.

Step by step, magically transferred, I find myself so close to iron gate.
The vestibule is desolate, just me, my soul and I and echoes of the past.
I stand inside the iron eye; the bars are cold to my touch. I hear a whisper.
“ I have been whipped and bound to bars, but now I am free”. I gasp.

And then I lean against the stone; I touch again the iron bars.
I look outside and see the Hall, I hear the memories of past.
And now I know about the Hope and of weeping of the magic eyes.
And now lament has gone away, and happiness has come my way.