The coming white.

Cold and battered,
the sun screamed out its final lamentation,
Before all was washed away,
in the coming white

The room lost its glow,
and my skin split back to its graphite hairs
Throwing out my last shadow,
against the coming white

I was left standing,
no view left on these barren walls
You stole the colors when you left,
and walked out to the coming white



This poem was from Protagonize. I wrote it on a thread called 'picture inspired poetry game', wherein people posted a picture and others would write a poem based off of it. I wrote this off of a simple pen and paper drawing of a man standing against a wall.