top of page

Dancing Shadows

Shadows

Whisper

Songs of the future,

From somewhere further than the future.

Somewhere.

Elsewhere.


These shadows

Dance

On the walls of my bedroom,

Performing a perfect ballet of anxiety.

With movements expressing an infinite way to move,

I am . . .


Gripped.


But, like the sun,

One cannot stare at the shadows for too long,

Or else.

Or else . . .

I close my eyes,

But, I can still hear their songs

In the faintest whisper beyond the wind.

I try not to invite them in,

But they beg me

To live again.


I am . . .


Conflicted.


I pull out my ear buds

And play some piano from my phone.


“I do not wish to be a piano key.”

The shadows whisper to me.

The words of

Dostesky

Are something like that.

These shadows are well-read.

These shadows want inside my head.

Please excuse

The darker tone,

I stared for too long,

And now I live alone.


Sleep?


Sure, sometimes.

Usually when the tides in my mind

Have crashed against the shores

An infinite amount of times.

Then,

Then the shadows disappear,

And I cannot hear

Their whispering songs of fear.



-C.H.

 
 
 

Recent Posts

See All
The Garage

After the man has come home from work, After he’s eaten dinner with his family, After he’s done the dishes, After...

 
 
 
In Waves

My date asked me if I was depressed. I froze, Not sure how to answer her. I was a few beers in, And I think I mumbled something like, “It...

 
 
 
Zero Gravity Milk Cannons

“If you give her the moon and the stars, all she’s gonna want is space.”  “. . . That’s not as clever as you think it is,” I said. “Be...

 
 
 

Comments


Post: Blog2_Post

©2021 by Clintwritingshit. Proudly created with Wix.com

bottom of page