Pane

Locked within this empty room
Only one view from this spacious tomb
Nothing but walls of gray
No hint of night or day

In this isolation I'm driven mad
Your presence the only joy to be had
Not often enough to keep me sane
Made worse by the presence of the pane

It's a joy to see you through this glass
This accursed transparent solid mass
All I have is your sight and sound
This pane more obvious when you're around

The pane such a terrible pane
It hinders our contact, it's my life's bane
I long to touch you and kiss your precious lips
But this pane disallows even touching your fingertips

Have I not suffered enough Milady
Shall you still add to this malady
Do you revel to see me time and again
By keeping me imprisoned behind this pane


Keats