The Window To Life

Our life is our individual window into history, we do not know what goes on before or after us, this is our window that only we see, nobody can see everything we see. If the existance of humans was stretched out and seen from beginning to end, each person would only be able to see the blip of there lifespan because that is there window. So unique are the pieces of instance. We envy the ignorance of infants. To not understand the plan of the grand, To eat and sleep without having to stand. Once we have surpassed this leisurous style, We find we are lost in a downward spiral Constantly living our daily lives changing From birth, to death, our life spans each ranging. Our flesh, a cocoon we never will shed, Shortly existing only to be dead. In this blip of time only our eyes see To life, our window, from eternity. I stand alone on a bridge from a kid, Crawling and screaming this bridge to an end. My child half cries as slowly it dies At hands of the man who’s coming to rise. Trapped in the murderous instant between The child to pass and the adult to be, Awkwardly fighting the shell I have spun Like a soon to be moth, halfway undone. Blurry cars and lust filled stares tear my brain To shreds of stress strangled swiftly by strain Of social sittings with peers in my grade. Stuck on a level of life not yet played, Seen through the window to life like an eye, Pieces of instance from birth till I die.