Shadows of Sin Ben Strand The wind never sleeps, so walk with the breeze. The sun always blazing with brightness bestowing a glorified light upon the face of dark man weeping like a willow. Tired bags below his eyes reflect the soul of a stormy night. Every morning he wakes and ages just a bit. So subtle, yet it all adds up to being warded in a hospital bed; staring at a ceiling that sees only shadows cast by the light of the Righteous Man above. The shadows overcast the glory of the deeds done and follow the man like the footsteps of of a thief wearing iron boots that make the ground crumble behind him. Mundane perils of sitting at the kitchen table with a newspaper in hand trying to read between the lines. Walking to the beat of a humdrum drum. Instead of asking politely “pretty please” he utters with a long face “pity please” like a toddler. Casting a shadow as far as the eye can see A ship set sail long ago never to return from sea leaving an empty dock along the beach with a lone seat that sits at the very end. Footsteps in the sand wash away with the waves erasing a path once cast over by a shadow. This man has a dark past lost in his memory from traumatic confabulation of what he wishes really happened.
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