hailstorms
they are the wickedness of sorrow
the basic enemy we borrow
to leave shattered panes of glass
stained like the colors we hate
windowpanes
they fear the enemy like an avalanche
and wait for hope like happenstance
their folly in the stains upon their surface
stained with the colors they hate
the kaleidoscope
leaves the cathedral a marvel of glass
the floors covered in memories past
the faulty edges so jagged and used
stained in the colors of hate
By Elizabeth Azpurua 6/7/10
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