Vestige

When a shadow flits across the landscape of the soul where is the substance? -Thoreau

Apparition of shade.

Opaque semblance.

Never quite making the grade.

Tincture of time.

Nuance of naivity.

Simplistic specter.

Standing beside me in spitting image.

Casting me down.

Somewhere.

Distorting negative truth.

Making me more than I really am.

Twisting what is real.

Flanking and following down separation's runway for flight.

Hell-bent to angle of light.

Abrupt.

Bankrupt.

Shunned.

Present in the sun, unaccounted for with the dark.

Garnering silent accolades while I pay the price.

Never a saving grace.

Able to go with the flow.

Making me eat crow.

Not endearing with a loving glow.

Spending a part of me and offering no dough.

Making appointments then refusing to show.

I know.

I know.

It's only my shadow ...

Author's Note

“Every man casts a shadow; not his body only, but his imperfectly mingled spirit. This is his grief. Let him turn which way he will, it falls opposite to the sun; short at noon, long at eve. Did you never see it?” - Thoreau