My shadow drags its feet behind me,
a hazy echo of my every step,
always dawdling, never in a rush,
a slouch of darkness tethered lightly.
It stretches long when the sun leans low,
sprawling lazily over cracked sidewalks,
or curls beneath me in smaller days,
a patient puddle of silent mimicry.
Sometimes it gets distracted by trees,
climbing bark I’ll never get to touch.
Sometimes it lingers like spilled ink,
hovering over spaces I’ve already left.
It never fights when I turn my back,
just lags behind, a wistful creature,
each slow shuffle a quiet rebellion,
saying, "I’ll catch up when I’m ready."
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: February 3rd, 2026 10:03
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 2
Offline)
Comments1
Love it Gray such a lovely personification in this poem. Each step dragging behind. Now if one were to change directions the shadow would lead.
Yes sir brother
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