To live in the shadows of life implies that one is unseen by others. Not in the physical sense, but in the self sense.
17 September 2011
We who live in the shadows of life.
Flitting in peripheral vision
Like shadows ourselves.
Or wavery Ghosts.
Vaguely formed spectres of self.
We hear others speak of us
do not recognize ourselves.
We speak of ourselves unheard.
The words maybe go in ears,
Yet the meaning tossed aside.
Some of us accept invisibility
Standing unprotesting in shadow.
Resigned to greyness
Love and acceptance foresworn
Some rail and are called crazy,
Angry, unnatural souls .
Others go along, get by
I long to be a real ghost.
If I must be consigned
to murky shadows.
To haunt torpid minds
Blind stuporous souls.
To scare them beyond
Complacent essence and thought
Startle them to see reality
No longer oblivious
I do not mean I wish death.
I want to live as my self.
Not as a caricature of me.
Nor a distortion of sight.
When is Childless Day celebrated?.
Or National Poor Day scheduled?
Respect The Fat Day is where?
Honor Ugly People in what month?
Disabled.in service yes
Mentally challenged if young
Forget the mentally ill
Might be contagious you know.
Acceptance is love.
Desired by all.
Listen as we tell you who we are
No unitary category
No ticky tacky boxes
Alike On hillsides of life
No thought singularity
Not "Identical 'R' Us"
We long for sunshine in life.
Far from the shadows.
Passing Clouds 24 June 2012
Some days the shadows steal across my path
darkening the surrounding ground
Sometimes the shadow streams right by
and sometimes it hovers for days.
If the sky has been bright,
I glance up
from where I watch where my feet are going
worrying whether I need an umbrella.
I love the little light shadows of zipping clouds
tossed in the high winds of life.
They seem like happy, busy little things
with places to go and things to do,
Unconcerned with me.
Some days, I confess,
I lay back and watch clouds
turning them into whimsys.
Oh look there's an elephant on a bicycle!
White fluffy clouds evolving in the atmosphere.
Now it's a clown in a little car!
Some days though the dark clouds come,
hovering over me like the lid on Della's pan of johnny-cakes.
Throwing down bolts like a two-year-old in a tantrum.
And sometimes they are green and angry looking
and I wonder "Is my life going to be torn apart?"
But they all pass, even the green ones,
and here I stand, knowing that I may get damp
My hair may whip around my face,
A chill may make me shiver,
But nothing lives without water,
Including my strength and character.
Thank you, clouds, for stopping by.
Water and Hope Originally written in Austin, Texas 1982
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