Solitude In the Shadows
In the shadows, there’s a certain clarity,
A taste of downcast darkness,
A truthful distillation.
In the shadows, there’s a granularity,
A note of deep resignation,
A smokey reverie.
In the shadows, there’s a drowsy gauze,
A placid, pensive surrender,
A tranquil, hushed balm.
There’s a solitude in the shadows
On the edges of our survival.
In the shadows, there’s a roving phantasm,
A secret summoning presence,
A holy reckoning.
In the shadows, there’s a biting wind,
A polar pivot between life and death,
A dark reaper beckoning.
In the shadows, there’s a waiting epiphany,
A shred of universal mind,
A being and becoming.
There’s a solitude in the shadows
On the edges of our survival.
In the shadows, there’s a quantum inkling,
A blink of teleportation,
A ghostly comprehension.
In the shadows, there’s a whisper bodhi,
A glint of mindful rapture,
A quiet, private lumen.
In the shadows, there’s a bead holding all,
A speck of every thought,
A trace of every entanglement,
A solitude in the shadows.
Accepted for Publication: The Opiate, Spring. 2024
Copyright ©
Thomas Wells
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