He tilts his head and it follows,
Mimicking every movement he makes,
Like the image in a mirror,
Or the reflection in a pool of ale.
He laughs at his companion,
But is answered by breathtaking hush,
He gazes at it,
And it gazes back, content.
It's evident this beast fears not,
The company of others,
But when cast into darkness,
Fears only for its brethren.
It isn't like an echo,
It's solemn and it's cold,
And its movements depend solely,
On the choices of its lord.
A lifelong companion,
Never mutinous,
Never bold,
Being only for matters questionable.
A man without his shadow,
Would be somewhat inhumane,
As one form must be the servant,
For the master born of blood.
YOU ARE READING
Happy-Sad Poetry
PuisiA collection of poems written by me over several years, many of which contain deep dark worries and fears. It isn't light stuff, but please lose yourself in my words and come out the other side a different person.
