As cast into light,
a shadow appears–
a quiet figure, stitched our heels,
moving as we move,
never speaking,
never sleeping.
It doesn’t beg to be seen–
yet it is always there.
It holds what we bury–
fear, denial, and grief;
the voices of fallacy,
the weight of dreams deferred.
In its void,
It collects the pieces
of what we choose to ignore.
The past echoes there.
The burden breathes there.
The purpose waits there.
Still.
Watching.
Black, like every other.
Peace, legacy, desire, love,
life, time, power, freedom–
the purpose we carry,
even in the dark.
Some move through life unaware of its presence.
At times, the shadow devours us as it follows,
becoming the void itself,
the same void we long to escape.
Like the birds that flow within the sky.
Like the wind that goes where it must.
Like art that forgets its maker.
Like the planets, moving by their own will.
Like a name, whispered into time itself.
Like any form it follows, stone, trees, dust.
It does not leave us,
It becomes whole.
