Wanderer in the Storm

Art by Stefan Koidl

In the heavy shade of a room, a boy, stares at the rain

Streaming down the pane of his window, as the world continues

To revolve, steady, along the constant corrosive monotonous course,

As the boy, holding on tightly, to tangible memories

That have no place here anymore, wisp away, into darkness,

But he fights the disintegration, to no avail, lost in his barren mind,

Only gusting winds, through the channels of now empty memories,

Unfortunately, the brief years, hasn’t given the boy it’s dexterity,

Suddenly, a sharp chill, enters the room, disturbing the black

And there, between the drops of rain, encrusted on the glass

Is a reflection, a dark figure in the puddle, beyond the reach of his home,

Only, the boy cannot find the source of this ominous reflection,

No one there, standing, on the soaked and empty walkway,

But the tall and slim dark figure, manifested in the puddle,

The boy couldn’t trust his own eyes, it was beyond the bounds of reality,

Yet there it was, no eyes, but can feel the figure was starring

And the boy, couldn’t remove his sight, for the figure, felt familiar,

Which was why the boy, was led out from his sorrows

And standing, only inches, from this cold haunting appearance,

As the figure gently greets the boy, telling him not to be afraid,

While all the boy could do, was gaze, into the collected water,

It tells the boy, that it is not death, nor life, but a nomad,

A wanderer, that has been torn away, from being palpable

And then finding itself, residing within a hurdling chaos,

Then the boy, with overbearing hesitation, stuttering

Through, asks, whether the figure was a vengeful ghost,

The dark figure softly replies, that it wasn’t certain,

For it is not its purpose, there was anguish it wished to settle

Peeking through this storm, following its dismantled will,

It needed the boy, to ease the rumble, rattling the cage,

And all it wanted, was for the boy, to be its witness

As it laid out, its hand, asking the boy for his trust,

Looking into the shallow reflection, the boy complied

And gripped the air, finding a solid object in the absence,

They trailed across the gray, to a still and silent bridge,

They get to the middle, as the figure releases the boys hand

And suddenly materializes, while standing, on the edge,

“Here we are, this is where we accept our final bow.”

A stinging chill, swells, in the boys pounding chest,

“I needed you to know, where the flood rushed over,

I stood here, peering, into my own reflection in the deep

Until I rushed down, trapped in the murky speculum,

It’s where we end, our decent, and you’re the beginning,

I told you before, of our torment, it festers and paralyzed

Our hopeful existence, to this end, and now I drift in regret,

For how can we, walk upon the petals in a dreamscape

When blinding sorrow and affliction, hang like heavy drapes,

I’m trapped here, surrounded by the misery of the broken,

So why not try to help, so that the grim wind, settles,

Even just for a glimpse, of the sun, peaking through the fog,

There was light worth basking in, I ignored its brilliance

As I suffocated, in the dreary cave, until it was lost,

We can’t allow our demise, to repeat, when hope rises.

It is up to you, in this time, to break past what drags us down,

Trust me once more, it’ll make the shackles, weigh less

So that we can carry ourselves, further off away from the ledge.”

He walks over to the boy, places a hand on his shoulder

As the sun breaks through, causing the boy to shield his eyes,

And after a moment passes, the sun still shines, his vision returns

Finding he’s back in his room, in front of his window, of dried up rain,

No figure in the puddle,

No clouds hiding the sun,

And the boy, finds same those fading memories, intact,

And slowly, a smile, stretches across his face, melting sorrow,

Looking ahead, to hope

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