The Window

---

I see a window,
It’s blackened and dull.
It sits in the middle of nowhere,
A symbol, all on its own.
A rock…a rock flies
Through the thickened air.
And no sound is heard
As it shatters the window.

Glass, shrapnel darting towards me,
As I look with total dismay.
Pain, I definitely feel as
I’m pierced with the glass.

Blackness, I can feel the blackness,
As it floats towards me,
In the dense, thickened air.
And it’s entering me.

Nothing, I see nothing,
As I’m drawn to death.
A total rush of macabre
That I can’t resist.

Awake, I’m now awake,
As beads of sweat roll of my face.
It was just another nightmare,
Nothing more than what I’m used to.

© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.

Tittu

Poet’s Note:
For Throwback Thursday. This piece goes all the way back to my teenage years, written around 1996 when nightmares were both a constant and a canvas regardless of sleep. The Window was one of the first times I tried to capture fear, blackness, and the pull of death in words — themes that have stayed with me, evolving as I have.