It started with a blank canvas

They say the sun has a way with searing our sights, maybe it just might, But stars could swoop through the obscurity, blazing in a sea of absence, Broadcasting its beams and banners like a school of piranhas diving into the deep, What is it about love that makes bravery such a charming challenge, Why do your eyes fester me with feverish flutters when I am the most feared in my forest, I wear anticipation like a perfectly knitted glove, And you arrive at the ache of this deranged longing that I so desperately despise, Musing such solace without solitude, On a shadow curved moon night, Cold castings of wind passing by, as if they were silk-dancing ribbons dangling to a timeless tune, Words fall apart as they try to stand tall against the angst that spreads through the silence, seems like you hold unwritten pages behind your voiceless mind, Waiting for those once upon a time crashed curtains to relentlessly unbind, Dismantled yet driven by the unknown, For we are storytellers waiting for the harsh dawn to violently be so unkind, Life is never reluctant to what it must consume, It started with a blank canvas, And then our tales will eventually turn into sand dunes.