Skylar

It seems that something so ephemeral So light as darkness More impalpable then air Would have no one to covet its position Yet what a thing to be the shadow To mingle silent and intrepid Not to ever feel the hurt to be beside And full of intention but scared More terrified at the overature Then allowing it to pass The shadow has no fear That it should ever pause at the onset Nor flinch at the initial touch It makes its introductions without hesitations And without judgements