The Shadow's Son

Along dark alley ways,
if you care to stop and listen,
a whisper can be heard;
a trembling lullaby.

For there sitting invisible
a father and son bond
through trampled song
as men surround
trying to escape their troubles;
concealing themselves
in a translucent darkness.

Women too come and go,
while they sleep by day
the shadow's son sings
a shallow promise
to their unsound contours
as he glides along,
staying clear
of his mother's rays.

Behind a rusting dumpster
the shadow's son sits
watching those who pass,
longing for nightfall
when he will be free
to wander aimlessly
along the main boulevards,
free to walk among
the simple men, invade
their homes and come to rest
behind open staircases.
Watching through the darkness
only to vanish with the light.