Untitled III

Looking out my window
At the gathering darkness,
As it fades away the houses
That sit across the street,
Until nothing is left there
Like an empty canvas,
But this one is black,
Made for white paint,
So much like us,
Born with blank minds,
Waiting to be painted,
With morals and thoughts,
And so I start painting,
But the paint doesn't dry,
It drips and it flows,
Until nothing is left,
And I'm left once again
With a canvas of black,
And I wonder why,
Why the light doesn't stay,
Why the images made
Why they still fade away,
And I wake up next day
To look out my window,
And see the same houses
That sit across the street,
And I wish that instead
Maybe just for one day,
I could find something else....