by Jason C. Owen
We wander, cloaked in thought and thread,
No map but memory, no light but dread.
The stars above—are they signs or spies?
Or just the blinking of indifferent skies?
Each path we take splits into mist,
Morality whispers, fate clenches its fist.
A higher hand, or our own trembling will—
Which one moves us, which one stands still?
Shadows stretch like questions asked,
Some wear our face, some wear a mask.
Do we chase them down the crooked lane,
Or turn our back and feign disdain?
The compass spins, a drunken waltz,
North is a rumor, truth is false.
We pray to gods we half believe,
And stitch our sins into our sleeve.
Every turn births a darker twin,
A whisper, a warning, a beckoning grin.
Is it danger, or is it grace—
That shadow dancing just out of place?
So we walk, not knowing why,
If we’re rising up or passing by.
Lost, perhaps—but not alone,
In a world that echoes our undertone.
🪶©️ copyrighthttps://gravatar.com/jasoncowen 2025 Jason C Owen All rights reserved
2 responses to “Forks and Phantoms”
This kinda has the same vibe of a short piece I just did a few days ago. Thought I would share:
I would like to escape this timeline,
Or maybe I want to escape earth itself.
I’m tired of watching everyone chase all the limelight
While I feel like collected dust on a shelf.
If I am to be dust then scatter me amongst stars,
Form me into galaxies that decorate infinite space,
Let me belong to the glittery skies that are so admired at night.
I want to go somewhere far from this harsh and diseased place
Where blood boils, tears fall, hearts are shattered, and fists fight.
Your piece is beautiful btw. Thanks for sharing!
Thank you. 🙏