Glass Towers

Sitting about home today I strived to write of love, to bring to the fore a new poem to inspire. BUT none would feel suited or stand the course. Instead I began to write of what I saw within my heart, something that was burning deep and burning hard to find a way out as it were. Hence this poem today is centered about those who lives within Glass Towers feeling elitist. Looking down on low at heart or despising those who need a loving touch to inspire.

Todays poem is set to outline and bring to question folks, asking people if they see themselves within a glas tower? No one likes to find ourselves in that position. BUT we are often all guilty of being within that glass tower. How many of us are guilty of casting stones at those poor at heart? Picture each stone as judgmental voices that dispise. Then how many are guilty of such in life? sadly many of us again aree and we find ourselves within that spot without intending to be there.

Such is where todays poemis at. A poem to question peole where they stand and ask of ourselves how we lok at others. I lok at situations here in Ireland and foresee a day when people will clash because Irish who are in need are over looked for want of a good name by those in power. But that is a poem for another day. Please enjoy this poem.

Photo by Egor Komarov on

Glass towers

Beside the roses in the valley of bones,
Where many stand to cast their stones.
Sitting among scented flowers of no trouble,
Safely shielded within their little bubble.

Casting stones from glass towers clear,
Looking out at weak of heart without fear. 
Broken people feeling feeble strive for a break,
Judging eyes despise beneath their status fake.

Prying eyes can never seize their spirit ever dear,
Beneath our standard broken shields that smear.
Walk the roads we set without judgment eyes,
Within glass towers claiming to be sitting wise.

Bite the bullet outside judges eyes to size,
For everyone loves one who always tries.
Broken or Ivory tower fellows love lives,
Poor or rich in life return to what drives.

Glass towers to cardboard homes all one,
Leave stones where they lay in the sun. 
Binding broken bones help unite, such right,
Casting cloaks aside to dry tears bright.

©  Pat Fitzgerald 2022

Thank you for taking a little time to read this poem, I have returned to my older style and form to bring out this topic I had in heart to set out in this poem. If you or anyone wishes to post a comment, I welcome with an open heart, but ask that all comments are made in a polite manner. This is to keep with having and maintaining a positive environment in this page. Also to avoid any visitors who had any insult found within these pages.

On occasions I post and publish posts with mistakes and typos within. I assure folks that as soon as I find such mistakes or typos, I correct and update them. In finishing, please stay safe and keep well, also where possible show a little loving care to those in need of such loving care.

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