I follow her behind,
As a foshatique
Shadow; hiding,
In her meadows,
In the morn I slip
Into her pillow,
By the thoughts
She releases.

I want to be her
Blanket that warms
Her in the night, that
Creeps up on her
Tight; a slow warm
Release.

Im her heart, thought
She does not hear
Me beat, I am her
Blood that she
Leaks, verily
Im her soul.

Im her silver
And her gold,
In a furnace;
Being refined.

Im her footsteps,
Her sun, and moon,
Though she only
Hides me in her
Room; where
She can only
Find.

Im her pathway
And her sign;
And now the
Path is barren-
She let it go,
Though I do
Know, im
Her shadow
She left behind.


©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poet's poetry