For a moment of hurting
there is a ledge;
the wind lives
and the whole world is there.
Great clouds and a bright and distant, sinking sun
paint the window of my fading wall.
I am dark.
The music of my days has stopped
and I wonder how shall I dance.
Demonic whispers rage quietly in my head.
No one hears but me—
and I wait.
How shall I dance?
One step after another
though the journey fills my heart
with black cold water, to the door I walk.
I have to go, for the music has stopped.
As I go so stretches my shadow,
leaving where I stood a fading mark,
a momentary monument of my presence.
This heart is a heavy burden
when the shadows grow.