The silhouette…


Battered moonlight,

shadows fall from the

feet, neither warm nor

cold; the shadow follows

down a sandy moonlit road.


Emerging from the sidewalks,

scaling the face of a building,

sometimes trembling, it fears,

sometimes wavy with broken

lines; yet unbroken it moves in

perfect time; its own life it cannot



It moves forward both day and night,

sometime with menacing fright; its

only possession rooted in time; an

unloving thing, one of a kind.




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