My Glazier

Dear God, How I miss your words.
How they bare the naked skin of life.
How you reveal the darkest shades of gray that they all ignore.
Breaking them down.
Molecule by molecule.

Your brilliant words are only your most painted, tainted window.
Though it's broken, cracked.
Whichever you prefer.
But mine is cracked as well, tainted with it's stain of observation.
That's why I read your words the way that I do.
Why I understand each stain, each crack.
How it begs to be fixed, but shuts away each glazier with it's complicated mosaic texture.

So become a glazier,
with your words of noble reconstruction.
I believe in you,
I always have.
Your hands were made for molding,
holding,
those tainted candles with melting words.

And I,
Your Annabelle Lee,
Tainted by that brilliance which struck me blind,
will hold onto your words, until the next one spills out;
Comparing you to the fairest Summer day,
So that as long lives this, so this gives life to thee.