Actions and objects all have things in common,
Plays, fishing lines, broken bones, shadows.
All are cast,
By something or someone.
I\'ve been in plays before,
Once I broke my toe,
I never have been fishing,
But I know about shadow.
Not the ones caused by light trying to get past,
The long or short ones as the sun rises or sets fast.
I mean the shadows deep inside, covering my heart,
Eating up the light, the heat, cold, damp, black.
Shadows outside black the light,
Shadows inside block everything,
Happiness, sadness, love, hate,
All smothered in inky black, fuzzy grey.
But shadows are like plays,
Like broken bones and fishing lines,
All of then must be cast,
So tell me, who cast mine?