Troglodyte

Let's say we're Plato's playthings, in a
Cave, and we are watching shadows.
Chained, we'll never know what's real
Among all that is said to be, and I imagine
What you are. I can't be sure. You're
Just something I think I see, and, as
The clouds (if they exist) pass past
The sun, your image changes
Shape. I see you balled up, hiding
In a corner, but you're watching me.
I think I hear you saying, or implying,
That you want me near, and I, in
Chains, not only Plato's, strain to
Reach to you, but another vantage
Point appears to show you moving
Off, your shadow rising from these walls
Into a world I, a captive, cannot reach.
You run. You are not Plato's plaything,
As it seems I am.




Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 44 times
Written on 2015-03-10 at 02:13

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