The Shadow - Poem by Martin Moore


In intimate rings of tongue-tied tales
Through tender bracken stems
The shadow calls, its presence flails
Among such precious gems.
And further still along the dales
Comes to a sudden halt,
It lights a spark that never fails
The dark lord to exalt.
And climbs again through prickly gorse
And up the rocky glen
Its shadows seeking to endorse
The lack of strength in men.
It creeps among the ill at ease
And renders man a slave
They're duty bound, their lord to please
Within this dark enclave.
It rushes fog-like through the fen
And starts within, a fire
Teasing every nerve ending
And grating like barbed wire
Upon the very heart and soul
The essence of a man
And renders him in this dark hole
An empty, also ran.
United by a life devoid
Unnatural and lonely
The shadow helps to fill the void
And lift the mood, if only
For a day or two
It helps to pass the hours
Until reality shines through
And sweet deceit turns sour
The guilt, the hurt, the mounting debt
Come tumbling down like rain
The jangling nerves, the deep regret
The apologies again.
The promises, the heart-felt pain
Though life starts now anew
Above the shadow will remain
Waiting in the cue.
To re-embrace your troubled mind
As your defences lower
And like-wise, fellow revellers find
Delight in your dark hour.
As once again you join the flock
And drink the shadows curse
Retain your seat and watch the clock
Sure life could be much worse.

Poems by Martin Moore

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