Lost Shadow

A sulking shadow
lurks on the wall
not to be disturbed
and never to dance.

The silhouette of a hand
holds a pen
able only to scribble
a few words
of conflict and grief
before resting on hard darkness.

And within a short period,
the shadow loses its form
molding itself into new shapes,
never forgetting its first figure.

Memories of past experience
carry dull feelings
with sharp lessons,
for our real teachers
are the shadows
of past pain and pleasure.

If we choose to forget--
to repress that which hurts to recall--
catastrophe lurks,
and unlike the lost shadow,
our forms remain constant:
hard, unwieldy, and dark.