Shadows dance across once alabaster walls,
and paint pictures of a past—turbulent, wild.
First, a mouth.
Slowly smiling, curls its corners into a grin.
In an instant, the obscurity closes in,
and this comforting image has now mutated
into a frown.
Sulking away, it returns further into the walls.
I cover my face.

Black personas now materialize.
The mirage of a man gallops into focus,
and whips the shadows in a line—
perfect formation.
A dark wisp of night moves and with a crack,
it is stopped.
The immortal darkness bounces
as if someone is shaking the floorboards.

Out of formation, they mesh together
trying to find solace by creating a larger shadow.
Maneuvering along every inch of the white walls.
Piece by piece, assembled to perfection.
Into blackness.  No distinction:
They are now just part of the shadows.