Dim light paints the gallery, a canvas of dust.
Where brown hues mask portairs, memories ******
Behind cracked frames, tapestry of loss.
Faded echoes stir, emotions at a toss.

With chains of past, I stand, a captive soul
Unable to relive, yet forced to stroll
Through halls of what was, a hollow, echoing space.
A silent question hangs etched upon my face:
"What can I create now that the past is gone?
Is there no spark, no flame to ignite the dawn?"

Ashes remain, where flames once brightly burned,
A yearning for colors vibrantly returned.
For life's battery can dim, its vibrancy wane,
But within this gallery, a new path I'll obtain.

No longer bound by the dust and the gray,
I'll step out towards the sun a brighter day.
This gallery holds the past, but the future is mine.
A canvas untouched with space for design.