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"Glasshouse"

And she sits and she stares through the glass that shields her. Holds her tight within her world of ease, of comfort, of safety. She cries for the millions suffering on the other side, she can see them, their pain throbs in her heart. She does nothing. She sits motionless, her eyes glazed over, just as the glass is. Transparent, yet strong, with strength enough to keep out all of the hellish things that happen before her on the other side. It is a baron wasteland, and every spike on that barbed wire pierces her like some vicious dagger. Every melancholy expression making her soul scowl from within her. Children wail and mothers weep, fathers bleed, but with a firm foothold they stand, up against the ashes that the wind carries, up against the torrent of destruction that sweeps beneath their wounded spirits. They hang from their hopes and their dreams, their beliefs. They never stop fighting, in the hope that someday they will reach the shore, some kind of reassurance. They can fight with their emotions, hold them up to shade the scorching sun, it is only this that keeps them strong. Emotions can keep them alive in this world, in their world of discomfort, of difficulty, of danger.

"Suffer! Suffer! Greed!" The glasshouse trembles and echoes, sending tremors over the deprived land outside of it, people scatter like tumbling dominoes. The glasshouse does not crack, it is proud and tall. So powerful that not even it's own transgressions can bring it down. So rich that even the tiniest c***k' can be sealed with the utmost ease and security. So ugly and pitiful.
The baron wasteland beyond the glasshouse is not beautiful, it is spoiled, spoilt by the ravenous beasts that run havoc inside the thick walls of the glasshouse. The havoc of everyday life, the speed, the people running by, not even glancing up from their daily routines to look -through- their lives, past their own pathetic lives, through the glass at the horrendous occurrences in the baron land. You see, to the glasshouse people, life is for living, for taking not giving. They take from the deprived souls, engulf the water, give them mud. Steal their resources, spew out pollution from the glasshouse and accuse the outsiders. Their minds are confused, obsessed by greed and power. We cannot save this wretched community, they shall destroy us all, even themselves, even when they feel so indestructible. Their faces so shameful. The outsiders can say that they have dignity, they can be proud. And they can smile even with the burdens of their hopeless lives digging into their swollen backs. They can smile.

And there she sits safe inside her glasshouse, motionless, wishing she could bring together the divide. Wishing that suffering could stop. Stop. But the individual is stuck in this place, however much she wants to change the world. She is trapped. Helpless. Utterly useless and forced to live a life that is of greed and power. But there is one difference, she knows that she has looked through her life, through the glass. She can see clearly. She fears the world is beyond repair. The wound is cut, and is being hacked at too fast for it to heal. It is too easy to conform to the glasshouse way of life. Maybe she could escape, maybe she could help those poor souls on the other side. She wants to make them safe and warm, bring them in from the hurt and the pain, to shelter. She will shelter them with her heart, with her love. She can feel love even through all this misery. She -will- change a child's life for the better. And as she sits listening to the screaming, sorrowing Earth, she realises that her ideas are real and can be acted upon. It can be done.

Thank you very much. :)

If you are 14 and you have the ability to write in such a way to please absolutely every person that has read your post, then you're one hell of a gifted young lady, young lady ;-)

Congrats on the win.

Leprachaun wrote:
> *grins* No problem. I have decided I love writing, only about stuff
> that interests me though. i.e Not English coursework.

I totally agree, I love writing but so far we've done zero pieces of coursework that actually interest me, and allow me to write creatively. No stories whatsoever. It's all "compare this" and "in what ways are they different?" I want to write my own stuff, not compare other people's.

Congratulations by the way, very well written.

Excellent stuff, very thought provoking

Ooh, and congratulations. :0D

I am pleased.

*grins* No problem. I have decided I love writing, only about stuff that interests me though. i.e Not English coursework.

If you pressed enter at the end of every line it would be an oustandingly good poem.

And that's why it's beautiful.

It's poetic and undeniably brilliant. Thanks for sharing it :-)

I hated English GCSE. So boring, with poetry comparisions and all that.

Oh yeah, about the post. Everyones said everything there is to say, I guess.

Mouldy Cheese wrote:
> Iguana wrote:
>
> Did I reply to this, or did I just tell you how wonderful you were
> yesterday, katie?
>
> It's not really a debateable topic...

Shh. I forgot.. I'm just confused. I think I need to sleep..