Who are you, with your stones so bright,
Tossed from your glass in the middle of night?
I watch, I wonder, I barely speak,
Yet your loud judgment feels so weak.

You mock the brick, the stone, the frame,
But your own walls wobble, all the same.
I’m new, I write, I try to see,
The cracks in your vanity, clear to me.

You point, you jeer, you love the show,
Blind to the shards that fall below.
Stone houses falter, that I know,
Yet glass, my friend, can cut just so.

Who are you, so certain, so loud,
When your reflection hides behind a cloud?
I’ll scribble my truth, small but true,
While you toss stones from your skewed view.