My shadow speaks in prose's tall,
Of where it's been and the things it saw.
Of mountain peaks and valleys long,
My shadow could write a travel blog.

I alas can't say the same,
Though I've visited all the places same.
My worries and my fearful heart,
Couldn't quite fathom this extricate art.

A prisoner of my shouting mind,
The words aren't silent, the fear divine.
An orange jumpsuit, is what I've adorned,
All my life without a single cloth on.

Locks and chains are lighter still,
Than the shakles of this panicked *****.
I'd trade my mind, I'd give it up,
I'd make it silent with that powdery white stuff.

I crave for silence in a quite room,
A moment of peace, some quietude.
I wish to travel like my shadow does,
Living and experiencing, not a reflective stop.