Shadows dance and argue deep within the cold cave.  Some shout “No object.”  Laughing they whisper, “Fire isn’t real”.   Other shadows, in folly attempt to describe the fire they have never seen.  Yet, some know.  Yet, some feel.  Their object is the bridge to the fire.   They hold it close to the warmth and peace.   Invisible strings tug and pull, some shadows toward the fire.  Wispy fingers of grey push away the dusty wall.  Do shadows seep out and rise from the stone?  Or perhaps, are they only there for a season? Some shadows dig their claws deep into the wall, lodging dirt into temporary fingernails.  Denying their object, laughing at the notion of a Fire, they embrace only the shadow.  One day Fire gathers up objects who’s shadows have placed their backs to the stone.  They are carefully wrapped in a golden blanket of light and placed in the blue sky.  The shadows left behind still cling to the wall deep within the abyss of the cave.   Shadows with dry throats try to drink up the darkness, but without fire, only objects remain.

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Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert