Shadows

I am afraid of shadows
In the dripping blackness of the night;
Shadows of men whose souls have died,
In whose faces no radiance can shine again.
They move across the darkness
In a white, pitiful blur
Down the rain-drenched streets between the lights.
Closer they crowd, and closer;
(The shadows cling to each other
In their tragic loneliness)
Their nearness, their death quickens the life in me.
Yet still they flock never warring against the light they have lost,
Overwhelming my soul in horror.
How can the living escape the passive enmity of the dead?
How can they endure the frozen void of nothingness?—
—I am afraid of shadows
In the black, dripping night.

M.P.P.