Against a wall worn by years,
where paint peels like forgotten seasons,
two shadows rise-
quiet architects of something unseen.
One stands taller,
balanced on a fragile ladder of trust,
reaching upward
as if touching a sky that isn’t there.
The other waits below,
holding stillness in their hands,
a presence that anchors
what might otherwise fall.
No faces, no names-
only outlines shaped by sunlight,
only gestures carved in passing time.
The wall remembers everything-
every mark, every crack, every attempt-
and now, these shadows
become part of its story.
Light does the telling.
It stretches them thin,
pulls their effort across the surface,
turning labor into poetry.
And though they will vanish
when the sun moves on,
for this brief, burning moment-
they are enough.
Building not just with hands,
but with presence,
with balance,
with the quiet understanding
that even shadows
can leave something behind.
