The Shadow Man
Sorely due, into the night
and the shadow man, he was here
He sat at his desk
Grim things his mind did contain
He put pen to paper
A world of liberated thought
Mastered in the fires of memory
His stories of longing
Born in stillness, nursed by black ink
Villagers read, filled with fright
But the shadow man shed not a
single tear
Imprisoned by starry rest
The aged page did black ink stain
And whisper the story of a caper
Many ages of mad men his story
sought
On ink black waters glimmering
to the night his heart was belonging
From his spirit his words were
linked
Copyright © Billy Mcpherson Jr. | Year Posted 2012
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment