Stained Glass

The human is a creation,
much like stained glass.

We filter in the sun with
rainbows of delusional thought.

But in reality we are just
forgotten and dusty windows.

The windows to a broken cottage,
a home long forgotten in the trees.

A floor soaked in blood of the dreams
we have killed with our realities.

The mistress of the shadows and her lord,
they're just waiting patiently for your
window to break, for a little crack.

They'll clean you from the earth and take
you back into the darkness where humans belong.

Where humans are born, and then you shall see,
you shall see the truth.