A Shadow At The Door
A shadow flanks the door
through which escape is merely possible;
the wooden sheet has been swung open
by the winter draft that's never cold,
but always strong enough to cut the walking pace.
Branches crack from ancient trees,
the song being sung is old as dust;
it brings back memories of earthly days.
The shadow at the door holds a known name,
known to friends and family alone:
the face, the eyes, the feelings that hides.
All along it's just a shade that bears my name
and has my face and my broken will.
Poor darkling - little beast - poor son of naught
you've been here all along, and now it's understood:
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (A Shadow At The Door by Lenny Orlando Camacho )
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