Shadows On The Edge

Pursued by shadows on a silver plate, There is little—no, nothing—to hold the darkness back. And at the edges cold chagrin is always grinning And that's not the way it's supposed to be Despite all we hear and all we feel And all we wish or fear! We are repelled, that's all, Compelled to lives of sadness, Badness, cadness, call it what you will, Redness of eye and blackness of heart— We go on with it and prosper Whether we have cancer, diabetes, or a stroke, Whether we are the surviving half, A madness of disease, Or live alone, a joke that can't be pleased. rcs.