I liked the way my skin felt in the dark. With nothing but velvety black to give my form texture. I was free from restraint, remorse or the rot of other’s intentions.

That was until I met you.

Darkness was in my blood, in a way that no sickness could corrupt flesh. It imbued me with a sense of belonging and immense power. I was a perfect form, connecting to an impossibly fractured world.

Until you shone a spotlight and illuminated me.

I first saw you between two trees. With hands that seemed to burn clear all my hidden parts. I was drawn to you a literal black-winged moth to the warmth of your mind.

“Don’t be frightened,” you said, so gently.

Nothing could have pulled me away from my world of ink. Nothing except for the love in your voice. I cower now to think of what I’ve done for that voice, but this is my confession gods help me now.

“What are you?” you asked with a child’s sweet tone.

How does one describe an infinite void? Or the silence of a rising storm? Can one correctly define the hidden side of a forest’s shadow or the cowled face of a full moon? I tried . . . And failed.

“I am the moon.” You said so clear as light-filled long-empty plains.

Shadows trailed each ray of light as we founded a world of our own. Long was our reign, far-reaching into the void. I forgot the needs of a waiting dark.

“I belong to you,” you said with such trust.

And for a time I was whole; as whole as one who owns the moon. We were together as melodious as a lark crying between morning’s first dew. We were in each space, bright amongst the shade. Together we ruled all.

“I love you,” you promised between rocky peaks.

That was when I knew. Forever we’d chase, forever we’d run. But I would never love you. Where ever I went, you’d always be there. I was no longer the silent keeping dark.

“Don’t go,” you begged, flooding the world with your tears.

I fled your raging pyre, never looking back even after you howled. You cracked in two, forever waning. I watched your grief between twisted trees, gathering despair in the depths of your seclusion.

“I am undone,” you cried wrenching at your salted tides.

Now I am the waiting dark. Hidden between worlds, forever hunted by you. Your light pursuing each shadow of this fleeing form. Suture the darkest parts of my tortured soul. Never again will my heart leave or dare walk this road of love.

Michael lives in Utah, on the edge of a vast desert wilderness. His writing is greatly influenced by the nature around him and everyday happenings. Michael pulls much of his writing from his own life experiences as a former healthcare professional and as a current health science educator. He enjoys exploring all kinds of writing and hopes to complete his first manuscript this year when the reign of grad-school has ended. Michael’s writing has been featured on websites across WordPress.com, most notably with GoDogGoCafe.com, and NKU with the Haiku Master’s.
You can read more of Michael’s poetry, and prose here: The Ink Owl