A free-verse poem inspired by and dedicated to Kristi Love |
There is movement in the corners, I don’t see, but feel, eyes staring. Who are they, and what do they want? Are they real or just in my head? They are true; I can see the shadows looking past me at each other. Menacing silhouettes behind watched by shadows containing light. Trapped in a great silhouette war, of shadows dark, and some of light. When I move the shadows follow, as if, they were a part of me. Both sides pulling holding me tight, captured by shadows in the night. Facing the dark, I feel alone, turning to the light I feel hope. I hear running feet in my ears the sound echoing from the walls. The sound is I, running to hide, and shadows glide along the hall. At the far end stands a dark door it’s tall running ceiling to floor. The door is a living shadow, and behind, a shadow filled room. Weak and tired, feeling so old, forty-years, now fears and more tears. The living door warps around me taking me to the shadow room, the dark shadows blocked, can’t get near. Amongst shadows, a small table, on it sits paper and my pen, shadows hold my hand and I write. James L Finley June 2008 |