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When Shadows Aren’t Real

When Shadows Aren’t Real

In the past, shadows seemed so real,
Real as colors on a shirt or a dress,
Images impregnated – to feel, real,
Nothing more than to end up with more, of, less.

The smell of grass is real, bird’s twerp – real,
Piano plays, real to the ear,
The warmth of a lover’s voice is ideal,
But these shadows – just disappear.

Like smoke through a chimney-stack,
Your image floats and disappears,
This vicarious route – ends – without feedback,
The eyes fail, the mind wonders, then dull ears.

What does all this mean? – from the start to now,
Once enthralled; now – not even a raise of the eyebrow.

© By James Booker March 30, 2016

Published inPoems


  1. Kill Kill

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    • James James

      Thank you, I am glade you enjoyed. Take care.

  2. Chyna Chyna

    God, I feel like I shloud be takin notes! Great work

    • James James

      Thank you!

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