A Contemplation Of Shadows

Shadows are tricky paradoxes

Sly echoes of a candle flame’s dance

Skittish nocturnal flickers

Not creatures of night at all, as one would assume

Blackness is a desert to these phantoms

Who sup vampiricly upon illumination

Puppets to the glow

Moths circling their source

Formless parasites haunting sun beams

In daylight they frolic

Reveling among the revelers

Of holiday and laughter

Parodies of life with no life of their own

Yet when darkness comes home

Like a drunken father

Stealthily they creep into halogen bathed safety

Where the lamp of one sleepless poet

Will ward away their bedtime till the cockle crows

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