Deah Caldwell Poetry

I am stilled and engulfed by dancing shadows—

the ones in my thoughts with a constant presence.

They beg to be freed of being fallow,

eagerly awaiting with an air of dissidence.

Without an off switch, they drive my cognizance

and sharpen my tone to take flight.

Each night is like a personal Renaissance,

except morning brings its routine of unyielding and monotonous light.

Oh! I bare the burden of desire

and am chained to a cage of repetitions!

Still yet, morning finds ways to inspire.

Until night, the shadows remain in stoic dispositions.