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Four ☯ Stars

Shadows

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Based on something from my personal life.

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A blockade there was not, no stopping him to pass the door.

But his heart throbs, why can't he move towards it anymore?

He's now sobbing, sobbing on his blocky knees, tears on the floor.

Within the door, what lies which could tear his very core?

Indeed, which force lies that has his feet stopping?

It is himself. The shadows are watching. Always watching.


He goes the distance home, and the empty rooms are mocking.

Darkness, unknown, for this figure, watching, always knocking,

On his door, and he knows there's no escape from this hell.

There's no pill to forget, no perfume to mask his smell,

For he also knows well it's no flesh or blood that yells,

And rings his bells, only his mind and the shadows it can tell,

Are there, but regardless, their fleshless boots are walking,

Through the lightless, even nightless, the shadows are stalking.



Indeed, the shadows always show themselves in numbers, mobbing,

Shivers down the figure's spine, his scared heart throbbing.

But how could the fear configure itself so strong in his system?

The song of terror, sailing through his veins with such precision?

Who would expect the start to be a silly story that was written,

On the web of lightening content, giving him his dark suspicions?

The monster lies before through every door has no flesh rotting,

No flesh chopping, just the shadows, dark like ink blotting.



Some shivers like the figure's can't be suppressed by a coat,

No shut-eye sleep, no soup to stop the feeling in his throat.

And to think it all came from the silly words on the screen,

Oh, the words that haunted, haunting words that seemed to scream,

Maybe less surprising was the easily-despised eyes he's seen,

The evil glean of the eyes, the aura of a black and red sheen.

But it's not them who keep his morale low, it's the shadows.

Maybe they caused the blow, but the shadows are the battle.



He can't take it, he's not gonna make it, he can only hope,

That this object can grant him the way to make him cope,

With the fears in his heart, so he tightens the rope,

Then he jumps, leaving others thinking: what had his spirit broke?

What force could stop the figure's walking, his talking?

Indeed, which force lies that has his feet stopping?

It is himself. The shadows are watching. Always watching.

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