The Power of the Shadow

We snuggle into shadow cloaks
 and blend into corners
 to observe, peeking out
 onto yonder borders
 of what some call.....sanity.

 We can observe from darkened folds
And fondle ourselves when we sense what
 may be obvious and exciting...out there.

 In here, we are swimming like the wind,
 blown in chaos, leaving silent impact imprinted
 in ethereal sworls that change the course of all
 that is.

 Our shadow coats are warm, and large with many pockets
 where we collect tears and mutterings and a few thorns that
 once found themselves in a lion's paw. Jagged glass and brass knuckles
 and bullets left in children's bodies, strewn on cafeteria and library
 floors.

 Our shadow self picks up these treasures so lighted selves can continue
to cavort in pleasure but not joy, deluding themselves in believing that
one pure thought can clean away the smells of real living. So deluded to
believe a truth which has not withstood any challenge or logic or passion.

 We snuggle into shadow cloaks
and become fistfulls of wind,
 one cannot hold us....and we hold all there is
 here, in the corner, melting once again into the smudge
 of the otherside.

 Left unfinished.....12/18/99
Carole Harrell

Copyright, 1999.  All Rights Reserved.  Used by Permission.