He is followed by his shadow day after day, I see him inquire in acerbity, “Shall I know thee?”
I could vividly see harrowing veins twisted across the furrow path of his forehead.
Again angered at the frustration of no reply,
Angry at clearing the farmland and tilling the grounds alone,
The struggle to feed, a curse he can’t avert.
Yet being followed around, but no helping hand.
“To what use is the company if you can’t help, dearest dark twin?”
he asked again in the tiniest groan, moaning in tiredness as he threw his head back and watched the sun rolled slowly behind the curtains of the sky,
The sun left her mark, as he spoke, the crack in his voice was enough evidence to the torturous scourge of sunlight.
Leaving behind his tool, he draggle is feet towards the river bank,
Followed again by his shadow.
On intent to quench his burning thirst.
There he was staring at the peaceful face of the still waters,
Rippling in the delight of peace beyond.
Mirroring nobody but the man standing across, alone in his suffering, his shadow had fled.
There again I hear him mutter,
“Who am I?