Made Of Glass

A poetic exploration of fragility.

Midnight, Twilight, Thunder I ask,
Why do these things scare you?
Is your soul made of glass?
Fragile, but full of clarity.

Knowing each and every step,
A carefully planned candelabra,
It is Gold, not Brass, I expect.
Traversing each boundary,
Lost in every way.

So is the one in fear of Midnight,
Twilight, Thunder, but never frightened of the day.
For even in the day there are those that stalk.

Only in the shadows do they pounce.

I surmise you are correct to fear,
Those natural things of life.
For when you are made of glass…

You are easily shattered.