The Gallery

There was the Shadow

And so there was the Gallery

Infinite walls of photos, words, stories, lies

Perpetuated through infinite corridors.

The Shadow skulked behind.

Each exhibit untouchable, infallible

Each still and empty

Each realized by the onlookers

But without reality, without meaning.

And the Shadow skulked behind.

The massive sunlit rooms

With floors paved with fear

Perfectly beautiful, inviting

Never revealing.

For the Shadow skulked behind.

An exquisite foyer

Beautified and groomed

But by whom?

The entrance, welcoming doors

Into this vast, terrible room,

An empty, meaningless tomb.

And the Shadow skulked behind.

A hall of memories

Many false, many altered

The bastard children of deceit

Mere dreams, far removed from what must be

To rectify where life faltered

Yet riddled with faults and fallacies.

The Shadow skulked behind.

Wall after wall of artful prose

Carefully crafted by the one who knows

With truth concealed

Emptiness seeping into the ruthless flow

Of the lies that heal,

Of the void that grows.

And the Shadow skulked behind.

A single sculpture, mighty and bold

The largest display

A hollow figure, its presence cold

With a tragic, familiar face

That only an artist could mold

Proudly it stood, unflinching, in its place.

The Shadow skulked behind.

As the sun did set,

The Gallery closed.

And in darkness as it was,

Silent, empty, still.

Out of a corner, slowly, with caution

He appeared, yelling, crying.

Rag in hand, he looked

And spat at His creation.

He trudged to the sculpture,

with his pathetic rag he cleaned.

Vigorously wiping and rubbing

Till its surface gleamed.

He went to the foyer

As was his urge.

And cleaned again, and again

Till all had been purged.

He cleaned all the pictures, the paintings, the prose

Each and every exhibit, as his tears did flow.

Some art he took down; it was old and uncouth

He was sure to replace each with a work that was new.

For He was the artist, the sculptor, the bard

And in this terrible Gallery was only His art.

As the sun did rise

The doors would unbind.

The visitors entered.

The Shadow skulked behind.