The Shadow Man Poem by grace mariner

It is a relief when the shadow man comes.
He passes and is gone in the blink of an eye.
The heart craves understanding
but the mind will not comply.
To know oneself is a gift, offered to few,
rejected by most.
The mirror of illusion that speaks to us,
saying all is well.
Words are truth, care unquestionable.
But the phantoms mirror shows what is more truth
than illusion.
Names etched in stone, crumbling.
It is light, even in its darkest hour.
We are ugly in our self determination,
unable to give or receive.
We play children's games and the less
requested, the less is given.
It is beautiful in its harsh ugliness,
passing like the shadow man, in
the blink of an eye.
And the poisoned tea, offered in sympathy,
tastes sweet upon your tongue.
Oh but if that cup could be mine!
How different would life be if truth never existed?