Strike one
The rain violently crashes against the ground
He would cry, but his screams are stuck in his throat
Tears, synchronize with the rain drops
Threatening to drown him if he dares to utter a word
Christians pray
Children play
Yet he sat there choking off of the words that he wrote
The candle light lighting the dark room as the moon failed to do its job
Strike two
One more word but the ink is gone
Frustration fills his veins and he sends the bottle crashing to the ground in a masquerade of glass
Why must He fail to put his feelings in a simple line?
A poem
A story
Anything to reveal his dreams
His visions
Could god just want him to die?
Without a single trace
It’s true
Strike Three
Why is He here
He slowly curls up
Awaiting his trial in hell as lightning illuminates the sky
A crash shakes the shack as he closes his eyes
Dream of his death
Stars unfold behind his closed eyelids
And music plays vividly as his waltz around the room with a beautiful mysterious damsel
Strike four
Another crash shakes the house so violently that He wakes
Springing up he runs over to shards that lay sprawled all over the ground
There in all of its glory is the splatter of ink
Looking now he can see a small bottle of paint
Using a brush that so swiftly moves with his hand
He creates the Image of the damsel at last
Her beauty could not be explained with words and now he knew
For she was his dreams and his stars, her singing was the song that he heard every time he closed his eyes
Small tears formed in his eyes, sliding down his cheeks
His damsel was long gone, for she passed away
Her beauty now scared him
Ripping it down from the wall that he had hung it, And throwing it catching it in the blaze of the candle light.
Fire rose from the damsel burning the home and the man inside as the rain tried to save him
It was too late
The fire sounded of her small whispers as the house became ash
Strike 5