Like a candle, I sit,
Burning out.
My chin in my hand, I stare
At the pale light which slips through veiled windows.
I’m caught in it, paralyzed.
And inevitably, thoughts splash themselves across my mind -
Painting scenes and landscapes,
Of far away places.
Beckoning me to their imaginary pastures and shores, forests and lakes, sunsets and leaves.
I breathe in my dreamscape, until, with the fragility of a spider's web,
The sound of my name tears me away.
I travel,
Through thousands of miles of thoughts, returning
To the rasp of my tormentor’s voice.
As the last pieces of my shattered dream fall to the ground,
I turn.
And ask to repeat the question.
The candle keeps on burning.