Slowly the Shadow resigned,
To the place where all shadows drift away into nothing.
only to be let free at the different angles,
Shapes
And directions
An abyss
The great globe In the sky decides to give.
Odd how that is.
One such of different nature completely controlling the other,
On and
On
And on.
It's seems utterly to me, the mold should be broken somewhere along the way.
Lest history repeats, or
somehow escaped.
How structures can be twisted
Bent and morphed
And still show such beauty,
In the darkests warmth.

She was a person with a lot of punctuation,
wherever she went punctuation followed!

Periods never lasted long
since they carried resolution,

and she was a woman always
embarking on what was next,

to uncover what was beyond
the point of no return --

the flat earth made round,
as to run in perpetual loop,

commas and exclamations
were common guests

and stayed long after supper,
well into dessert and into
         run on mornings,

they commonly crashed on her couch
until they got soaked into her furniture,

and now whenever she tries to rest
her head in the ending of her day,

she is poked with the scythe of her commas,
reminding her there is still work to be done,

her YALP! summoning her exclamations
from under her favorite pillow --

falling baseball bats barreling out,
their effervescent presence bubbling

to the surface where they burst and
reveal how itchy they make her feel.