By Steve King
© 2024 All rights reserved
There is a shadow close to me,
Sometimes in dreams,
Sometimes upon broad day.
Sometimes it grins in dark relief,
At others, all in gentler moods of gray.
I’ve seen the specter there inside,
Its job, I guess, to ponder me.
But I am too much innocent,
And can’t imagine what it needs to see.
I am a shadow too, of sorts,
But cannot look beyond
To know with any certainty,
What other shades may hide.
Here, thoughts are sheltered,
Hopes collide,
And every future me abides.
I’ll take great care which me to choose,
But have not yet resolved.
I wonder what the specter knows
Of my unmastered ‘heres’ and ‘nows’,
Or of the thoughts that gather me,
Or how this finish must evolve.
I know there soon will be a time,
When I and every shadow meet,
When ages are immersed as one,
And every longing lies undone.
But then is then, and now is—
What?
Just filled with shadow play.
Dark winds must keen,
The far stars shine,
And every life shall hew its time,
Though soon ahead, or close behind,
The shadows swallow all designs.
