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Leon's making dinner. ~200 words

When you’re promised the moon and only given a black-clouded night,

to whom does the blame fall?

The rays of its looming silvers and golds

feel just beyond grasping fingers helplessly reaching for the delivery of more.

He wished for more.

More than the shimmer of precious metal that crushed the blue from his eyes.

More than the carving of a brand into the flesh of his face.

He wanted more, but to whom does blame fall?

Promised the return of a heart unjustly stolen.

Promised the everlasting power that shines so heavenly above.

To whom does he cry out?

daily doodle (ansem sod in color)

Original below

daily doodle (ansem sod)