You sketch yourself a shelter

from the stormy nights that weigh on you,

the paths that end in brick walls

and the lies you thought were true.

With gifted ways you sketched your days

And brought to life the light through shadowed grays.

You sat behind your table like a frameless portrait selling drawings.

Offering your manna to the gentiles for a laugh.

Charcoal is the night you miss,

Between the stars, the nothingness,

The broken dreams that stain your soul,

Stand still I’ll blow away the charcoal.