The brush of ice cold fingertips leaves a red hot trail,

                A window shatters into a million diamonds that float on the thick summer air,

Outside, the pellucid night reflects what is meant to be seen,

                Inside the battered and weather-worn shack, the opacity blurs true emotions,

The anguish weighs down, bearing a tremendous weight no one person could carry.

                It is as if a hurricane crashes down, forcing open the wooden door,

Or watching helplessly as a glass figurine falls onto the hard concrete.

                Clinging on to what is left of a devastated past of memories,

Struggling to release the ever tightening hold, to come to a brighter future,

                The distain slips away, receding like the last few icicles of winter.