Morning finds the wind beating softly
                           against the rising sun.
Wraps my scarf around my neck
                       as I watch the squirrels
dancing on the hydro lines.
They do not feel me watching them.
The spinning shade hides my presence.
My thoughts have finally reached
                   decisions of withdrawal.
The forgotten distance everyone
will become is some sort of comfort
              as I stretch my arms towards
              the infinite eye of surrender.
Nothing changes in an atmosphere
                 of constant repercussions.
Just like the hiding moon,
                  all of the doors are both
                              open and closed.
I will only state my point of view
          to the hollow shadows that
speckle like underwear wrapped
             too tight against the body.
Somewhere a siren is wasting time
               blasting its noise against
            the heat of the rising day.
Inside my ears I also hear
the angry words of so many
                        different tongues.
It is a struggle to keep
my composure, for I want
         to scream my anger back
                                      at them.
But this would be useless gestures
of compliance. It would be
giving in when I already have
            decided to give up instead.
Even the sky seems to walk
                              away from me.

I listen to whispering voices,
telling myself to breathe, just breathe.

I take pleasure that now
I am just a breeze
that blows by
as it goes it's own way

Not bothered by
dysfunctional memories.
Putting them away.
Locked in attic, ignored.

Irritated by nothing
because I've stuffed
glue into my ears.

Screams for help
shot like broken arrows
from your broken you.

I whisper in harmony
with the voices.

We are pretending together
that your need
is not greater
then mine.

I love you.
Or at least
I used to love you
before you found
your broken bow
to stop the wind.

Blowing by
on broken breezes
caressing myself
as the whispering voices
tell me to carry on.

Spaces have been erected around the box.
                    Inside stands the shadow man.
                  Crucifix dangling from his neck.
Rosary beads furiously being
                                      pumped in his hand.
Pray, shadow man, pray.

So he does.

He prays for the world.
      He prays for the universe.
            Mostly he prays for himself.

There is a world of difference
           between living and pretending;
           between being and existing.
Shadow man is unsure of which
               position he stands within.
Pray, shadow man, pray.

A bullet is faster than strangulation.
Choking kills the body but not the mind.
Around and around the dozen or so devils
                                          are circling the box.
"Come out and play" they whisper
                                           to the shadow man.

But he ignores the evil outside for
       it has already become his inside.
It has become a normal pattern
                                  of his situation.
Pray, shadow man, pray.

He will never leave his box.
The luminous walls are
                   his zone of safety.
Where are the answers?
Where are the solutions?

They exist.
They survive for other shadows.

Not for shadow man himself.
Pray, shadow man, pray.

You may be one person
But, you can make a difference
Continue to make progress
And have a drive for success
The battle will be tough
But, you can make it
You can go far
Just reach for those stars