My Cardboard Balcony

Does a Caravan of Shadows by Belinda Roddie Does a caravan of shadows pass by your house in early morning, waking you from troubled sleep? The travelers and their children ride horses that glow as if they were made of gold, and you can only see their eyes beneath their hoods, bright amber. They never blink, and they never breathe, I think. I say a caravan of shadows 'cause on the old wooden wheels of their wagons cling little shadow people that you can see even when the chandelier of stars is hidden by the mist. They never leave. They are the coattails of the journeymen, leading through ev'ry dale and river's bend.

The word epic is often overused. Me, I like to use it in the epic poem sense. You know, the kind of poem you have to read in every single ninth grade English class. Unless you're in English Honors, in which case you gotta read Beowulf and The Odyssey. And quite possibly the Iliad. The only thing I can think of when reading Homer's work is, "The muses must have really liked him."