shadow apart

he wrote that it's easy
to hate a man remote.
one who is unreal.
one who is only
words whispered
by the memory of
a sad and lonely girl.

perhaps the hate
was only hate of action
and not the shadow itself.
for the actions, they themselves
were the reality,
not his body or mind.

what then, if he stepped from shadow
into the light, for even just
a fleeting moment in the sun?
a face to a name, then,
or perhaps a face to a story.
with such comes the heart,
the blood and guts of a nomad.
promises, perhaps, to a girl who
smiles more often now, but
who still has an empty space
somewhere inside.

promises like before, come and gone.
so now, the hate is not of shadow,
for they have faded,
leaving a smile, a face.
a firm handshake.
promises, perhaps, to come,
to be unfulfilled or realized.

nevertheless, the shadow is  material.

Copyright 2004