The Shadow Home Show

Shadows dance cross blank canvas walls

The freedom of the space a paradise contradiction

To the cluttered floor bound to chaos

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Feet shuffle and stomp crushing junk

While shadowed limbs flail ungracefully across open sky

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They say smoke rises, yet the breathing room is bigger up top

On the ground there’s too much broken glass

And shattered hopes that have yet to float up to the stratosphere

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The fly on the wall has the best view

Both shadow and existence unharmed by what’s below

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A wallflower tries to bloom in the corner but gets stamped out

It had its roots too low

It shouldn’t have tried to negotiate space (your fault)

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The scene is put on mute

The jarring acoustics add too much to bear

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No one wants a poem about yelling

So shadows tussle cross empty wall space silently

Trying to claim a sense of this harsh twisted reality