The night has started and the air is now still.
Outside a room, a joyous laughter lingers.
A remnant of the day’s warmth.
There, the streets are clear,
and now the lights though dim,
burn for those who seek the accompany of the night,
but fear its close embrace.
Behind the faintly heated glass,
where a soul had once peered out,
was a single candle,
which tiredly illuminated the room.
But among the shadows formed
one held a light without form.
though it flickered,
though it wavered,
it rarely blinked and stood at a canvas.
The shadow heard nothing as it glared at the paper,
nothing but white filled its sight.
There a tremble …
And now a black line cuts the white canvas.
The ink soaks into the paper like the first drops onto patched earth.
With that the shadow stares…
But now a black line has crept up into the shadows heart…
Time flows slowly at night for the shadow…
The black ink had continued to seep in,
but now the light wanes,
A thick arm reaches to replace it.
filled with cuts and blackness,
the shadow lights the new candle but never stares at it.
It would be bad if he gets accustomed to the light.
but the gloom settles as a little warmth reaches him.
madden by the black lines which curve and cut across each other chaotically,
glares at the man within the shadows.
It curses him fo his inability,
and berates him for his choice which is said to stem from greed,
A greed to win which has lead to his loss.
The man is bare,
his heart is naked.
He knows the truth and knows what is said is no lie.
But though he thinks,
he never stops…
Then the man stops,
and casts his arms down.
He steps back and watches as the yellow light stain the remains of canvas white,
The line still chaotically,
but now the lines flowed clearly into the picture of a boy and girl,
now a man and a woman,
and a small girl and a house.
But as the man smiled, a tear ran down his cheek
a tear ran down his cheek,
As he knew that it was never going to come back…