An Ironic Realization

The room was empty.

I sat upon the wooden floor.

Papers scattered around me

gently stirring with the breeze.

One window,

faded curtains moving

in their ghostly dance.

Light streamed in...

The bright afternoon sun?

Perhaps the mystic of moonlight?

I hear a howl.

Some far off wolf calling

to nothingness

or a forlorn dog

begging for companionship.

No matter to me.

I watch the papers.

Each one a dream never realized.

I try to touch them

but they cut my fingers and mock me.

The window above me.

A curtain brushes my arm.

Beside me a painting,

small but dear to me,

stretched upon canvas.

I can not even look at it anymore.

It lied to me.

That wretched curtain

brushes again.

I clutch the painting

and cast it through the window

shattering glass

raining shards down upon my body.

That accursed light

reflected times over in those shards.

Those fragments that once framed

some beauty unobtainable.

Papers escape through this new gateway.

I laugh.

The room was empty.

I was never there at all.