Poetry

The Stained Glass Window

Do you see the stars against the sky?
Such brilliant points of light!
I’m privileged to be perched up here
To view their paths each night.

They draw my thoughts to lofty heights
Of awe and mysteries vast.
They captivate my very soul
Until each night has passed.

Could I like them (I often gaze
In silence and I ponder),
Become a faithful guide to those
Who stumble, search and wander?

But I think not. I do not shine
As those above me do.
I’m just a pane of broken glass
Stained deep with every hue.

Then, as the light of day reveals
More trove than one could name,
I become the more aware
That I am clothed in shame.

A bell rings out above and soon
The village starts to wake.
The townsfolk walk the hillside path
The Vicar’s hand to shake.

They take their seats on carven pews
And hymns begin to sing,
But some just mumble, heads weighed down
Too low for praise to bring.

I long to turn the eyes of them
Below to vistas wide
Of trees, green fields and fluffy clouds
That gild the countryside.

To lift their hearts from daily care
To rapturous joy sublime,
To know the great Creative Hand
The world His grand design!

I see the light from other panes
Shine in upon the pave.
Their rays of brilliant sunshine
Gayly rush to fill the nave.

But, my shards tint the pristine light
With orange, green and blue.
Stains set deep within my glass
Curtail the bright and new.

I thrust the sense of sorrows old
Upon each break of day
And flood the floor beneath my sill
With devastation and dismay.

In certain light, a stain of brown
Falls upon the lectern there.
Its cross shape twisting wisdom’s place
With pain, with death’s despair.

And horror worse, the deathly pale
When the Man upon such cursed tree
Doth tread sometimes upon the font,
Mingling blood with purity.

Shall one of humble pilgrimage
Find his soul washed pure
When sacred water drenches him
Instead with bloody torture?

O, woe is me, for though I yearn
To show His light as pure,
My myriad stains of hellish pain
Are what these must endure!

Yet, even so, there was one time
A man approached my frame.
He touched his lips then placed a kiss
Upon the dead Man’s name.

And I’ve seen many come in sad
Then leave hence with a smile
It’s good it seems, in spite of me,
To be here for awhile.

I like to see the children skip
Along their path t’ward home
Knowing smells of Sunday’s feast
From ovens soon will come!

Hope in me arrises,
As the sun falls out of view
Could it be my stains reflected
In the clouds have purpose, too?

A momentary glimpse of hope
And then the sky turns gray.
Twilight leaves me wondering,
But who can really say?

When the dark of night has fallen,
I know this to be true:
I’m just a pane of broken glass
Stained deep with every hue.

Gen. 1:14-18
Ps. 8:3-4
Is. 64:6
Phil. 3:8-11
Ps. 121
Matt. 6:31-33
Col. 3:2
Rom. 7:18-20
Rom. 8:28
Gal. 6:17