==============
Everything was dull.
Nothing was seen.
Painted in darkness.
Wretched and mean.
==============
Someone screamed.
Someone wept.
But nothing came.
Nothing is left.
==============
The rivers dried.
Enveloped in the cold.
The fire vanished.
A story untold.
==============
Alone and unspoken.
Gotten used to in the years.
Grief and sadness.
Was screaming in the tears.
==============
It wouldn't stop.
Could not flee.
It wouldn't end.
Lest, it's just me.
==============
Then it came.
A blinding glow.
Why have you come?
Why didn't you show?
==============
The life of one withering leaf.
Avoids the hand of the light.
That life that was once unwanted.
Cowered away in fright.
==============
For every light, there is shadow.
That might kill or save.
But the light burns brighter.
That washed everything like a wave.
==============
No one wept.
No one screamed.
Nothing was left.
But a meadow instead.
==============
A simple phrase.
A tiny gesture.
Would change anything.
Yours or someone's future.
==============
Be careful.
That's all that you need.
You'll never know, you might be a victim.
Or the maker of the deed.
==============
SO ARE YOU A VICTIM OR A MAKER?
YOU ARE READING
A Writer's Collection
Short StorySTOP! Good. Now I've got your attention. Open the door. No, not your door. But this door. Not a physical door either. This door is called Story Door. Open it. There is no turning back. Welcome. Didn't say I didn't warn you. -M
