Nighttime Nostalgia

     I'm not very good at poetry. Never have been, and probably never will be. That being said, I enjoy writing songs and poems. I have a comfort zone in prose that just needs to crumble every now and again. I found a poem last night that I hadn't seen in awhile and thought it might be fun to post, so I tinkered with it just enough that I felt it might be half worthy of sharing. It's not very good, but the emotion I felt at the time still rings true.

Shadows

We don’t cast any shadows.

We bend and blend, but the sun

     will never tell you where we start

and where we -- end.

We are alive but we are bleeding,

     blood that doesn’t blow

away

     when the wind whirls us around

We met a girl as sharp as ice

who didn’t bend and didn’t blend

    she just --

broke.

Sometimes we wish we could break.

that we could

     s h a t t e r

so you could slice your hand on our edges

So that our pieces fall like brimstone,

fire and rain on the

     -- blackened buildings --

putting holes in the dusty ground

We are dangling from a ..tightrope..

     we can push and we --

can pull, but we --

don’t cast any shadows.