LONELINESS

        Slumber tired of ringed wings in the hurting night... A touch of a noise heard in a dream and loneliness startlings in the cold dark... Could it have been a dream?...  Perhaps it had been someone... or perhaps only the winter had knocked on the window with an ice flower.     
        The melancholy of no step had left the memory of no trace in the white sparkling snow beneath the window. So?... The cold entered through the window opened for a moment, emprisoned in the dark room, is shattering confused,  trembling over the wings of a blind butterfly sleeping on the ceiling.  
        Drops of silence fall every moment into the shapes of the dark, creating strange forms in dark clothes - strange statues of the Night... Only a black bird, with the flight hurt by the snow's light still reflects its falling in the condemned eyes.

        ... and when the green waters swing their depths in sparkling tears, The One Who Will Not Come Again is dreaming of shadows.

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