Shadows only come out in the sunshine


When I was a child

I dwelt in halo-ringed days,

till at child's-end we parted ways

with the wakening that

a halo is the rim-remains

of brightness

blotted out.

My days

got in the way

of seeing full the true sun.

(And here was me thinking

those days shone from brightness within.)


When I put away childish things

I reached outstretched for the sun.

A dancing sunbeam passed,

I grasped,

but we parted ways

with the wakening that

a sunbeam is the thin remains

of the sun's

expended rays.


To cure seeing through a glass darkly,

one must step to the other side.

Citizens of a world of darkly-glass

think shadows are the day,

not know them as the go-befores

of being face-to-face.


Everything I ever did

only finds its real meaning now.

Thank you for your real sun

that showed my shadows up for what they were.



© John McNeil. All rights reserved.
This poem may be used free of charge, on the condition that copies are not sold for profit in any medium, nor any entrance fee charged to a performance. In exchange, the author would appreciate being notified of any occasion the poem is used in public performance. He may be contacted at: Or at: 36B Stourbridge St, Christchurch 8024, New Zealand.