Essence ~ Written 3/24/1999

  Essence ~ Written March 24, 1999

A flashlight beam holds the ray of light that shines through your dying eyes. A candle flickers from a soft breeze coming through the crack of a stained glass window.

Mother Mary harbors somewhat of a smirk on her pale thin lips. The virgin mother, tainted with a slight scratch across her stained glass body, would present a true heavenly glow of soft pastel color, come sunrise. No other stained glass window could bring a shine from the heavens above quite like Mary.

The flickering candle shadows your hanging portrait with patches of orange light. Each flash of the dim candle glow haunts my worn and withered soul.

The steady ray of the flashlight beam begins to flicker under my uneasy grip of power. I see distress in your dying eyes. My worn and withered soul is haunted once more by the untamed shadows of the candles fire. The shadows now dance like a forest in a monsoon storm, but quickly explode into millions of glowing demons disappearing in a tunnel of darkness. 

And as the essence of the flashlight begins to consume my tired eyes, I see the light has spread throughout the room. I feel sadness sweep across my body like the plague.

I'm dazed by the smoke, filtering from the wick and drowning in a pool of wax. The bright essence of the flashlight begins to dim in the presence of soft pastel colors, gleaming through the stained glass window. 

As the flashlight beam fades like a distant memory, I see the peace in your worn and withered eyes.