Blank canvas


Light shines through an empty window,
onto a room stained with color.
Pictures hang on every wall,
road-maps and memories.

A fragile grip on the world,
white knuckling both sides of a chasm.

They war with each other,
dual sides of a doomed personality,
each crying to be heard.

Straddling the edge of existence,
hoping for a strong wind to sway her either way;
she should be happy, but the hole in her heart won't be sated,
no matter how much she wants to, she can't seem to stay.

His presence a balm on a tattered soul;
a soothing touch when the ache is too severe.

Another lurks in the darkness,
one who understands the pain inside.

Unused brushes and paints wait for their artist's inspiration,
opportunities and beauty unspent hunger for creation.

Curtains draw on the now shadowed room,
the day has gone far too soon.

The muse waits for a second chance,
the blank canvas singing a siren song for the lost.

She listens with bated breath and crying silent tears,
the moon rising alone in a starlit sky once again,
for the dying angels only she can hear.

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