The Shadows

There are days when despair

seems our only recourse.


Portentous gatherings trapped

by their own sophistry,

roving from enclave to safe house

fugitive from all

that speaks our commonality–

our same blood, our one flesh.


Our mutual aspirations are greeted

with haughty, pococurante stares

before they set the bomb, or crash

the plane or toss

the vial of toxin in the train.


There are days–despairing days

and mournful nights–when hope

is but the flame

that casts dark shadows on

the wall from every demon

grimly dancing in the dying light.


This poem was the result of a writing exercise for my writing group.  We were given five words to use in our writing.  Those five words, the anniversary of 9-11, and a certain passage in Plato were the inspiration.


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