Photo by (and copywrite) Greg Laychak.
It is a long hall we walk,
Reflections of decisions
Hung in windows,
Rain-spattered and sun struck
The stains of time rolling down
Like tears, never wept
In the dawning
When other voices rang
Rhythm, rhyme, reduced
Where they set us yet to roam.
Everything is painted now—
Just thoughts.
The Waking Den 