Shadows, as the title insinuates, splits open and lays bare the frightening vision of humanity, the heart of man depressed, a veritable inferno in which there is little to be enjoyed and everything to be endured, as all is vanity, a gnawing emptiness. Nothing is but what it seems. Simple but without being simplistic, there is in the damp climate of Doh's poetry broken promises, displaced emotional centres, a pervading sense of doom, of impending disaster, and a total helplessness reminiscent of Plato's proverbial mythical cave in which all reality is but shadow, devoid of substance, with the observer chained to the walls of his feelings, beliefs, and unfulfilled ambitions. The second section, iCelebrationi, is, however, a source of warmth, of light, the sunis rays in an otherwise damp and and dark collection.