The Talking Shadow
Much of life; I’ve been known as a talker;
public speaking was often my choice;
I’ve even, at one time, been a sleep walker;
even at night; I still had my voice.
Most of the time, I had something to say;
and, fortunately, someone to listen;
I often talked too much; day after day;
my silence, was guilt, by omission.
But such times as this, have melted away;
I don’t talk today; nearly as much;
although I still have a great deal to say;
my thoughts are often out of touch.
Still, I feel I have thoughts to contribute;
tho no one is around to hear;
to my failure to speak; I usually attribute;
there’s no other person near.
To others; I’ve become almost invisible;
I’m much like a fly on the wall;
my life, has become almost fictional;
a mere shadow; irrelevant to all.
Though I still continue to keep on talking;
I’m much like a book on the shelf;
nobody cares, if I’m standing of walking;
I am still only talking to myself.
I have become the mythical white elephant;
I’m no woman’s lover or beau;
now, that I’m old; I’ve become irrelevant;
I am only the talking shadow.
Monty 9.15.25. # 2,965