The Way Old Shadows Wait (Poetry)

So — another morning.

Light slips uninvited through
and lounges — nudges ghosts into leaving.
A drizzle of remembered conversations
damps the air — odd words drag their feet
awkward as they go — take memory with them.

The room is far too familiar — crowds
its dust into pockets of resistance
that hang onto grey — play down
the long defence of clutter.

The clocks are ticking war
and creaking wood keeps strategies that might outlast
time’s determined siege —
sun’s soft-shoed wrecking crew creeps round
measures sly how wide the gate
how high the walls
and lobs its silent spears.

Curtains hang their traitors to the cause —
betrayed lost night
and day advances armies over-bright
its scouts reflect the ground is clear.

Deep ranks of dreams drift back
dissolve so none can tell
the way old shadows wait
their turn to fall.