Stones in glass houses

We were rebels, 
Soul rebels.
Phantasmagorically carving out a space in a hole we just barely began digging.
With stones in our hands and nothing but glass walls surrounding us,
we picked them up and started throwing.
Not the proverbial ones, but stones heavy with desire and sharp edges
The kind you cannot carry around in your pocket forever,
or they'll cut through the fabric, causing gaping holes that never heal.
The kind that can easily smash glass once they are released.
I know this. 
But without the bruise, how can we ever tell where the boundaries are?
How much the heart can take? And wich frontiers are really worth crossing? 
Or the answer to the ubiquitous question am I significant?
And as long as the glass remains intact, there's no reason to stop.
- is there?


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