Ricki Lynn Rawlings
©2002 Ricki Lynn Rawlings


Exploding glass, clenched fists, white knuckles on a hand so tight

thrashing, smashing, through panes, panes of glass.

Pains-caused by doormats, stonewalls, silent torture, smug looks,

digs, jabs, slams, shut doors, turn-downs, roll overs, demands and


Pains, hurts.


Panes and panes of glass


Pieces flying in slow, ever-so-slow motion

A silent scream; shaking, trembling body

An echo scream, one that reverberates each time the fist goes

through the first three panes of glass.


But the worst, worse than that is just before—

Sitting or standing, feeling all of that energy rumbling inside,

Knowing you have the adrenaline, physical power, and won't shed

even a trace of blood but sitting or standing watching it happen.

Seeing it, but not doing it.

Shaking, screaming silently.

Knowing that I could break anything I had in my hands.

Boundaries, limits—so far out of reach before overstepped.

But to reset them—not to let them—outsiders, intruders—in.

Closer walls, thicker walls, panes, unpenetrable to pains.

So that the panes of glass won't fly through the air, nor the

threatening, terrifying, aching, dying, echoing cries or screams.

My body won't tremble, shake or shudder.


Simply to learn that simple way—

To view through the glass to see beauty, smell lilac, touch

softness, hear breeze through the trees, taste sweetness in the feeling

conveyed by the sight.

Tranquility, not pain. Serenity, not hurt.


Silently, in solitude, sitting with Nature and Heavenly Father

above, water falling over rocks, turbulence, simmering down to flowing,

flowing, the breeze blowing so far removed from pain.

  Tour Coffey
Pic' Ax'
Studios Jackalope
Trading Post Comments Home