Glass Gloves

gray0328

 

Not again—the dream has found me,  

wearing glass gloves I cannot remove.  

Nails painted red, like defiance caged.  

A storm brimming beneath smooth frost.  

 

Every movement feels steeped in danger,  

touch heavy with the weight of harm.  

Like flame in ice, I war with purpose,  

this glittered trap I neither chose nor broke.  

 

Now, I cannot clean the house, cannot  

brush dirt from corners without shattering,  

cannot cradle soft things to my chest,  

their edges tremble, my surface cracks.  

 

I learned to wield my hands like tools,  

made for labor, stitched into this life—  

but now, they are prisons, beautiful rooms,  

it hurts to hold, but how could I let go?

  • Author: gray0328 (Offline Offline)
  • Published: December 13th, 2025 04:54
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 21
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Comments +

Comments3

  • sorenbarrett

    Clothed in fragile transparency this poem's meaning remains obscure. I can not imagine the difficulty of using glass gloves inflexible and slippery as well. The threat of cutting oneself should breakage occur. Nicely written Gray

    • gray0328

      Thanks Soren I appreciate your feedback. this was a scary dream

      • sorenbarrett

        You are most welcome Gray and I can only imagine

      • nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson)

        great write, much enjoyed

      • Ezekiel Olayemi

        Lovely write....

        • gray0328

          Thanks Ezekiel I appreciate your feedback



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