Poem 57#

I wondered why our shadows were always dark,
When they could instead be, yellow, orange, blue or grey,
but everyone around us would then know that,
we’re happy today, or maybe just feeling plain,
Maybe you wish to be left alone and your shadow would then predict it away,
It would then be impossible to hide our fear, our thoughts, our feelings away.

But black?
Oh the color has many possible answers,
most of those, truly unknown.

At times it sinks in your loneliness on the cold winter nights,
It’s the only thing accompanying you,
under the dim streelight.
Where you tread around cautiously,
rapidly try to save yourself from hungry eyes and calloused face.

The others,
It acccompaines you by the marble floor of the serene terrace,
As you sit beneath the callous moon,
listen to the chatter of the tranquil trees, feel the wind hover around,
there is a thin silence in that loud air,
you sit back and watch the dead stars grow cold,
it cautiously grows upon you, in time, the twilight doesn’t scare you in any way.

Lastly,
it stands out in play as you await the arrival of the one who couldnt keep their promises,
it starts with the last local bidding goodbye,
those lean feet seek support of the rusty grills and patched wall,
he will be here, your rawboned hand graciously pray,
but all you hear are crickets gossiping away,
and the scarred bat screech in pain,
Suddenly those empty windows infront of you,
showcase a shadow too gloomy for the day,
you step away in dismay,
in hope, that it was a nightmare.
Alas the darkness has other plans to play.

And little by little,
you get used to this feeling, everyday.

5 Replies to “Poem 57#”

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