Whispers From A Shadow Poem by Allen Steble The Philosophical Poet

Whispers From A Shadow

Rating: 3.1

Whispers from a shadow
follow me through the street
shades of light from the moon's glow
follow my weary feet
whispers from all around
quiet voices without a sound
footsteps following me
from people my eyes cannot see

Wherever I go
voices I do not know
wherever I go
whispers from a shadow

Whispers from a dark place
invade my open mind
from strangers with no face
deaf, mute and blind
whispers from far and near
filling my listening ears
glaring eyes following me
from the branches of broken trees

Wherever I go
voices I do not know
wherever I go
whispers from a shadow

whispers from the shade of night
swallowed into my brain
whispers from the left and right
whispers from the sidewalk drain
wherever I go
voices I do not know
wherever I go
I hear whispers
Whispers from a shadow!

Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Topic(s) of this poem: imagination,insanity,shadows
Intan Rianda 27 April 2010

i like it! nice poem! :)

1 0 Reply
Rehana Nazli 02 May 2010

Words that we exchange, prayers and compliments that we give and take, promises that we make, follow us everywhere. I wonder what do your whisper say? thanks for sharing a poignant poem.

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Muhammad Ali 24 December 2013

dear poet. one day, i hope, you (or i) will see the face of the shadow. i hope that it will be you (or me) . that day you will have next part of this poem for us. i really love your art. peace.

1 1 Reply
Marvin Brato 19 September 2013

Like conscience, a shadow keeps whispering! Stay on bright light above you to hide silence the shadow!

3 1 Reply
Heather Wilkins 26 May 2013

the shadow goes with us everywhere and it whispers to us. It will always remain. nice write

1 0 Reply
Patricia Grantham 14 May 2013

A shadow goes wherever you go. it can't detach itself away from you. It's a silent partner that always lurks in from or behind you. Thanks for sharing a very intriguing poem.

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Ace Of Black Hearts 07 May 2013

A shadow marches to its own drum, yet a slave it becomes. It can not escape, nor can you. Disappearing among the pitch dark night. Only to be found following in the daylight. It's a struggle for it to own itself. Forever attached, whether it be at the hand or feet. On the eye of the horizon it does meet. Excellent Poem.

1 0 Reply
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