always silent, always there, a quiet weight upon the floor. it does not ask, it does not share, it simply waits beside the door. no words to say, no pulse to beat, just resting softly by your side, and when the sun begins to fade, and silver stars replace the glare, they wake within the quiet shade, alive and waiting for you there. it follows where your footsteps tread, a twin of ink upon the wall, it slumbers when you go to bed, and rises when the morning calls. it stretches long across the wood, a shape without a face or name, it stands where you have always stood, and plays a slow, unchanging game. a patient guard through darkest hours, it asks for nothing in return, it does not wield or want great powers, just watches as the candles burn.
photos: google poem: mixed
