The tenderly shadowed man of the solemnly desolate night

Fixed his structured eyes upon his own

Crimson-rimmed painting

With such recently shattered innocence

As coldly driven as a freshly paced sweat that could drizzle

Down a divergent block of melting ice,

With maddened expressions

Swirling like twisters

Through his heart-wrenching

Perception of those like blue eyed huskies

Destined to find the master it so

Thoroughly has sought after

For decades of waiting

Hopelessly waiting,

For the master to arrive.

 

Overwhelmed by past experiences

This man of the night

Drifts away into the memories

That kindly lies between the splattered paint

And his own desire to be heard.

Falling into this world beyond the painting door

The echoes of the faint voices

Scattered throughout these halls.

Remaining to fall

Some of these voices were recognized.

One was held so dearly to him,

Understanding that the dizziness of funnel shaped

Clouds began forming.

For the creator of the painting

What felt like hours could,

Merely be a matter of seconds

With sleep depravity clawing

At his boned skull

He continued to proceed

Until he found what he was looking for.

 

The voices of those who had come and passed

Slowly drifted away into a bitter nothingness

As this tiny passionate girl

Wrapped her arms around his scrawny waist

Tears showered down his nimble cheeks

And he realized that what he knew and what was received

Should never be wasted.

For the provocative hearts

Shall live once again

Reaped and broken was this stern man,

Salt stung his lips

And he was motionless.

“Daddy I miss you,” she cried.

On the inside this broken fool

This ill-tempered buffoon

Had nothing to say,

Weariness had been portrayed.

 

All the feelings of coldness

Found warmth among the breath of hope

Nothing compared to the exuberance of wanted

Desire among the founts of faith.

His weary heart felt as if lightning

Had struck fiercely deep within him

Thousands of voltage seeping through his skin

Decades of life coursing within his veins

He felt a jolt as if bound and shackled chains had escaped his grasp

Love itself showed no boundaries

Just to illuminate the world.

It shined breaking barriers of emotions

To seek refuge among this fair child.

Knowing only who he was

Yet to refrain from sayings

Without expressing the life he had once lived

His beckoning for her to know what

He had become

Moments would burn away her flesh,

The flesh he had just witnessed again.

How could he hold in so many words

For her youthful ears to comprehend?

She would never understand

The falsehood she was.

Remaining distances between heartless and salvation,

Hurt was never an option to perceive

No endless love could repudiate

What his love, or understanding of this word

“Love” itself couldn't explain.

What lies have been repeated in vein,

Yet with courage to meet strength in the darkest of times

He weakly tumbled to the dirt which were painted black as decay

With the faintness of a whisper he cried:

“I’ll be with you soon, just hold on tight.”

 

Gravely her grasp slipped away

To where he was now

Every living creature could listen

To the sound of silence

That shouted through the paintings door,

Opportunity wasted away

At the man of the night

Falling out of his droopy hands

Like an rotting babe left at the footsteps

Of an orphanage among the waste,

Where prosperity will never be noticed.

 

As the gazing on the painting slowly

Fades into deaths row

This man of the night

Suffocates from the heart of breathlessness

Motionless with only a smile remaining.