Trusting Impulse

The glass that cracks,
hears the yelling.
Held inside, no more room for holding air.

Forgiveness is handed too easily,
what else must we earn.

And all the windows look outside,
And all the outside, stays the same.

What else must we capture,
through photographs and crafted frames?

And all the silence, is never heard.
Just stuck in the shattered pieces.

Lost and swept up on dusted ground.