Beauty behind glass
is just pain made decorative
over and over again
you said ‘you are like
those flowers in the globe
beautiful and still’
you watered me with lies
and promises filtered
through false intentions
you never let me grow
you liked me delicate
a possession to look
at but not to hold
when I reached for you
I found find your hands
were just reflections
you kept me behind
the pane of your discomfort
and when you walked away
you left me blooming
in endless silence
I finally shattered the glass
and no-one heard it
but oh, how loud it was
and I finally understand
this pain is mine alone
© Ann Bagnall
Annie's Poetry 