The old man wanders into this room, a windowless
room, full of ghost of his past he is angry this
old man, full of seething for all his brothers and sisters.
full of the hate is his own gray blue heart. all
the regrets stockpiled before his eyes, blinding his
minds' eye to all the wonders and colors and beauties
of the world that surrounds him. if i can not feel
the love neither can they he whispers into the darkness.
i will make them pay he whispers to his own aloneness,
and then another whispered voice breaks his muted concentration.
against his own will his eyes break their silence and
slowly begin to blossom. for the first time he notices
the light coming from the window, illuminating a door
in front of which stands a young girl.
thin, even frail, she looks at him with a defiance
he just can not place. she says nothing and yet the old
man feels an aching in his fortitude. his eyes
open a bit more and blues and greens and yellows appear
dancingly across his consciousness. she is beautiful?
his mind questions... her skin is fair. her green
eyes pierce his defiance, his purpose. hope she
whispers in her enchantress' voice. hope, his mind
absorbs... is this her name he wonders. he hears
for the first time, the expressions of the fabric
of her dress in motion. she approaches slowly, delicately.
no, hope is her message. at this thought her emotionless
face softens, subtly, the hint of a smile
appears, bringing her intelligent
features into this new born spectrum of his light.
my god you are beautiful he says aloud for the
first time. hope stiffens slightly but does
not break her stride. the monster inside him
rages as she reaches tenderly for his hand.
you can not touch this beastly child his mind
screams. and then silence. a warm breeze rustles
the old mans hair. lightly, pensively he opens that
last eye, looking down at hope in her utter brilliance.
her hand is in his and there is no room. hand in hand
they stand together in this field of oneness, together. a
young girl named hope, and a new man.
8*6*11
