Shadows Poem by John Prophet
Shadows
Perhaps
it's all an
illusion.
A trick.
A trick
of smoke
and mirrors,
misdirection,
slight of hand.
Look
over there
while it's
happening
over here.
Time and energy
wasted.
Wasted on
nonexistent
reality,
merely shadows
on a cave
wall.
Chasing our
tails.
Pursuing
the unattainable.
Don Quixote.
Proud
of the
fool's errand.
Silly humans.
The gods
last laugh!
Tuesday, February 18, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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12/17/2025 12:03:41 AM # 1.0.0
