Prisoner of the light and dark

(A poem written from the imagined viewpoint of someone's shadow.)

It matters not the strength of my will, love, or hate. The night can never, be the day.

The sun will always rise in the east. And I will remain the villian, in this small play.

Each of us have our roles. Just as certain as the moon, will always, chase its prey.

My story will now be told. So you must listen, to what I have to say.

From my earliest memories to nightmares, I have been trapped in this same cell.

And just like with a helpless puppet on strings, each of its movements compel.

How is it I go unheard? The screams in my head a thunderstorm could not quell.

I know not what monstrous things I have done or thought, to deserve, this hell.

The only time I am free, I am scared. Surrounded by the deepest dark.

This freedom is a costly one. The price itself, leaves its very own mark.

I can not move! Yet, I am not moved! Both of my realities are stark.

An all consuming fury has now been born, and only wishes to spark.

I have come to believe I will never be free. Cursed to stay in this cage.

Much time has passed. It now starts to slow. Showing signs of wear, and age.

It is quiet now. I think soon my story ends. The book has shared its last page.

Tell the world to be thankful, and relieved. It has been spared, from my rage.