Doubt is a thing with shadows
that grows when daylight fades.
Like Peter's shadow in the nursery,
it tugs and pulls away,
dancing free from where I placed it,
refusing to behave
until I chase it round the room.
It whispers like the lost boys do
of things I'll never be,
or ticks like the clock
that drove Hook to insanity.
It grows as the light fades,
always attached to me.
When loose, it flies like fairy dust.
Around my worried mind,
acting out each what-if scene
that keeps me up at night.
My shadow’s face is a mirror to my own,
Her eyes gleamwith spite.
I chase it with my logic's thread,
like Wendy did before,
but it's quick like pixie wings
and slips beneath the door.
I try to stitch it back in place
with needles made of hope,
but unlike Peter's willing shade,
mine struggles on the rope.
So now I sit here alone under a sky of gray,
and think,
Like Peter needs his shadow,
I need my doubt to stay,
for shadows prove that light exists
and guides me on my way.
Nov 19, 2025
Nov 19, 2025 at 8:47 PM UTC
Doubt is a thing with shadows
that grows when daylight fades.
Like Peter's shadow in the nursery,
it tugs and pulls away,
dancing free from where I placed it,
refusing to behave
until I chase it round the room.
It whispers like the lost boys do
of things I'll never be,
or ticks like the clock
that drove Hook to insanity.
It grows as the light fades,
always attached to me.
When loose, it flies like fairy dust.
Around my worried mind,
acting out each what-if scene
that keeps me up at night.
My shadow’s face is a mirror to my own,
Her eyes gleamwith spite.
I chase it with my logic's thread,
like Wendy did before,
but it's quick like pixie wings
and slips beneath the door.
I try to stitch it back in place
with needles made of hope,
but unlike Peter's willing shade,
mine struggles on the rope.
So now I sit here alone under a sky of gray,
and think,
Like Peter needs his shadow,
I need my doubt to stay,
for shadows prove that light exists
and guides me on my way.
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