Shadows detach at dusk, and like bats
roost together in sinister rookeries at night,
wrapped in black mantles
hanging upside down, gossiping.
Peter Pan lost his shadow,
"do you know where they put my shadow?" he cried.
He found it in a chest.
He cried when water and soap failed to stick it back on,
but laughed in joy when dear Wendy,
sewed it back, reattaching it with needle and thread.
"I daresay it will hurt a little," she said.
You look back and see someone staring,
with you in their gaze.
"Is that person looking at me",
Why? Do I know them? Have I seen that face before?
You look back later, that stare and glare
are still there. Why are you being shadowed?
You duck down alleys, trying to avoid being noticed.
But footsteps follow, someone is there!
They are coming!
You are hiding in fear behind a wall.
A shadow crawls prone towards your,
gets bigger and closer.
But, suddenly the shadow turns, passes by and slinks off.
Whew! What a relief. That was a close one.
Shadows are followers, seldom leaders or climbers.
They have forgotten how to tell the time.
They slink like a snake, prone along the ground.
Like a dog they hound you panting for a pat,
but they are always out of reach,
allusive, tough job to touch.
Like bad memories they haunt you,
and shadow you around all day.
But, you can shake them at night.
Unlike dreams and nightmares,
shadows can be put to bed.
Strangely, you can drown shadows in water,
and shake 'em off in other shadows,
because shadows are not true reflections of self.