Behind the dirty glass window panes

of the scratched French doors

are two pairs of vacant, lonely eyes

staring back with child-like wonder


and looking into their eyes, I find the darkness

ethereal, as if I had fallen through endless stars

into the deep plane of non-existence

hiding behind a black hole, to a time


where the only words that mattered were

sit, stay, come, treat, and good boy.


where the only worries in our brief life

were whether our family would make it home.


where the outside world was left behind

and we lived in the sanctity of our four walls.


To run free again, with the wind pulsing

like the hot breaths of a lover

through strands of golden hair.


And I wonder if, staring back at me,

they can see the light of our city on a hill,

shining bright with beacons of false hope

for the rest of the galaxy to see,


or perhaps they just see me,

their loyal friend,

stepping away from the window now,

not knowing whether I will come back.



Hello there!


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