Cloaked in a charcoal clothes,
sneaky silhouettes tiptoe under lights gaze,
and it’s in these days, the brightest of days,
when out come the darkest of the shadows.
Haunting every form and every shape
Mirroring every movement and every ray
the darkness follows, for light’s its prey.
It lets no sparkle, nor glint escape.
Light is Jekyll, and shadows, Hyde.
You can not run, as it’s reflects your stride.
You can not fight it, so instead embrace,
for the phantom of light is lights night grace.
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I cannot word my appreciation of this poem, only I must mention how comfortable it is to my soul, familiar to my mind. You’ve touched, I think, the perfect center, the inescapable balance. Trying to escape to the light, being pulled by the dark. Beautiful, thank you.
Hi Swan. I’m glad you were able to take something away from this poem. It’s a pleasure to have you, and your contribution hereafter.
Brightest light darkest shadows… nice!
Cheers
Glenn