Empty Shadows

Where are we going
empty rushing shadows
who wants to be first
at the grave yard?

Better to step slowly
tiptoe through your day
time enough when you
claim your coffin
filled wit regret
for a life of squandered
precious memories.

Pink fog drifting across
sunrise sunbeams
I stop and watch
its tendrils caress
shadows lingering
shifting among the

Mourning doves call to each other
bats snuggle upside down
ready to sleep as I start
my day, shaking
the night from
my hair matted
with slumber.

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