The Shadows of Our Past #1585

The Shadows of Our Past Shadows always come from the past, Their whispers in the present cast. Visions not from future's light, But reflections born of night. Gatsby's cry echoes loud, “Can’t repeat the past?” he vowed. Wildly searching, eyes askew, For shadows of the life he knew. In the house, the shadows lurk, Memories, a constant murk. Reaching out with trembling hand, For the past, like shifting sand. Who we are, a mirrored frame, Shaped by shadows, lit by flame. Every dream and every quest, Born from yesterday's unrest. The past, a ghost that never leaves, In the shadows, it weaves. Vision shaped by what’s been seen, Reflections of the might-have-been. Shadows always come from there, Past's embrace, a tender snare. Vision, born of yesteryears, In the shadows, through our tears. Can we grasp what once has gone? Gatsby's hope, a fervent song. In the shadows, truth does hide, Past and present, side by side. Written by Steven G. Lee (May 31, 2024)