Somewhere Else

He turns and nods a goodbye
From a house that he rarely leaves
Nothing has turned out as he thought
He closes his door
And returns to his empty room
And dried paintbrushes
And empty canvases, promising of stories yet untold
His unexpected anguish rummaged through his head
Listening to his thoughts
Trying to hear them without speaking them
Thoughts that are wise but unpure
Always hiding in his room
Always on the edge of beautiful darkness
A long sigh and a sip of whiskey
His paintbrush seems to recall his loss
Placing each detail upon the canvas
Never telling the untold stories that were promised
But revisiting the closing door again and again
Somewhere else

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