I write
in the
shadowed places
cold, bleak
and dark
Stepping on cracks in the sidewalk
full of cigarette butts,
phlegmatic spit
and on occasion,
blood
There are crevices
in the fences too,
where the wind whistles
off key,
enticing me
to emerge
and share.
And I want to,
I so very want to,
and know that I
so very
never will
The silent shadows
comfort me,
drape their darkness
across my shoulders
like the powerful arm
of a strong friend
I shift and settle,
a bag of garbage
kicked in the corner,
under a wedge of dim, flickering light
from a faulty streetlamp,
the wires humming in
off key harmony
with the whistling wind
Come out to play, poet…
‘No,’ I reply to the invitation,
now no longer content to be in
the shadows.
I melt into them.
My words spin
out and away,
beyond my control,
into the vast, black
void of heaven.
And I write
in the
shadowed places
so beautiful, I really love this and can tell it comes from your heart and soul
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Thank you so much for the comment and the follow! And yes, at the time I wrote it, it was not a good place. Life cycles…
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Your welcome, thank you for sharing it
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