Wait

He waits
Lurking
There when he should not be
Like a pale blossom among a garish rainbow of tulips
Ready

Faded
Watching
Nonchalantly floating under the guard of the sun
A hidden stone not yet polished enough for their scrutinising eyes
Waiting for his hour

Bright
Ascending
When the clock strikes
And the witching hour begins
He opens his eyes
Eagerly awaiting the midnight dreams of hope and the recounted regrets
They will not be mentioned in the daybreak

Harsh
Unrelenting
Casting false illusions
Turning the common into monsters and the familiar into mystery
The colours drained and the edges sharp
Teasing you

Ablaze
Blooming
Shining on the lost and smiling to the onlookers
They watch as he leads his twinkling friends in the dance of the night
Illuminating the sky

Wistful
Descending
Greeted by his big brother
Who, in turn, wishes him farewell with a canvas of glowing watercolours

With a final bow and a wave he disappears into the new light