Frosted Windows
Out of the frosted window he peered, fearing the pervading darkness that encapsulated his location. To stare was a magical thing, absorbing the sights, the motions; but what happens after the black curtain falls? It's difficult to tell, as the soft velvet brings opaque to the transparent, dulls the clarity. His windows felt like the cold, cylindrical bars of a prison, his night the bricks that surround. So with a heavy sigh he continued to look for the sun, the moon, the stars. Yet difficulty arose when he was not permitted to look in the direction that was necessary.
"Where is the light?" Stop. "Where is the light?" Stop. "Light has diminished".
His utterance faded, its waves muffled in a black fabric draped over his eyes. 'What makes a man walk away from his mind?' (Green, D., 2008, What makes a Man?).
The song struck a chord and so he decided he knew what would force a man's feet to wander from the path those around him enjoyed. Divulgence, however, was not something he wished to labour his love with. "Drink up." He drew his curtains.
No comments:
Post a Comment