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Pane of Pain

(Poetry Prompt.)

By P. Francis

My life through the glass, and accrued years amassed

Wondering its end, with a broken back that bends

And the glass is stained by the tears and the rain

Breaking my seared heart, near an end- where do I start?

As a tiny waif, I frolicked, peeling the sky's ceiling, feeling I'm safe

In travails and torrents, I hiked thin trails and waded high currents

No farewell, nor whistles or bells, or praise for the family I raised

And I sowed fields of green as far as they'd yield or could glean

I sit in shame and stare through a pane of pain deep in despair

Thin lines mounting on skin, and fear of death flaunting it's near, within

My grey hair sheds with the druthers, but instead I'm smothered

Time is but an empty urn, my light a slight flame that no longer burns

Where I wish I knew where everyone blew or how far they flew

Never returning, never a smile, a visit yearning, if ever they sit a bit or chit awhile

By the pane of pain, where my worn heart wanes with the storm's rain