Windows of the Soul (1)

On the road to freedom
I met a pane of glass
that reckoned
it knew me; my name.
It called out to me;
it beckoned,
subtly whispering the same.
To return its stare is madness
deadened, defeated
in its glare.
Lashing, smashing
shattering and scattering,
its splinters split my skin.
Raging pain reflects on pane
and sees for itself
all the damage
turned within.