A Prayer to the Spirit of Shadows by Lawrence Reed

I supplicate to you, Oh ineffable Spirit,
Erebus's acolyte of the moulded dark,
throw me my triad of shadows
that, as in chiaroscuro, may sharpen my form
and show the man.
So, firstly, cast me that sad, delicate shadow right now,
made from the mystic glow of moonlight,
only half as dense, half as bright.
A lightness feeling less oppressive,
a suitable cloak for wearing through the night.
Then, come morn, I implore,
clad me in my dense, daytime shadows,
cast them crisp and stocky.
Dress me in a gangster's sharp, fitted suit.
Give me mad shadows
that creep along the rocky edge with me
and free my body to fall
into the murky blue sea below.
Or serene shadows
that let me edge along tranquilly.
Send me true foe or cocky friend in identical degree,
blowing in good and evil poetry.
Finally, Spirit, my last entreat,
bring me my elongated evening shadows,
create them this instant,
let them elongate and grow
in the low light of long ago.
Open the window on my other world.
Make me taller than giant oak trees,
higher than soaring castle walls,
like a Brobdingnagian.
Empower these gargantuan tableaux
and my colossus calling.
Bestow on me shadows to appal,
and shadows that bless,
in equal measure.
Let them fall.
Grant me shadows to terrify
and shadows to treasure.
Allow them slowly to flow and crawl.
Because shadows, as we should know,
are better than no shadows at all.
Hear my prayer, Spirit of Shadows.