In moonlight,
Embraced by malice-blunting haloes,
You enjoy evening like larks do mischief,
Welcoming every sort of mystery.
Till the hug holds for a little too long,
Beginning to strangle,
Like quicksand with resistance,
Harder and harder to escape.
Roots tripping the feet,
Branches striking your gut,
And other, more fanciful problems dog-piling in,
But no villain to gloat.
Though,
Just as the first saltwaters wash,
Skin-sliding,
Slip-slopping, no sunscreen, down,
An arm,
Beckons you home.
Here, here, here,
Follow the tendrils of light,
Beaming so strong and bright,
The path to darkness' delight.
YOU ARE READING
Waiting for the Rain to Fall
PoetryPoems that twine thread around the broken bits of a soul, that fling umbrella lips into beaming buckets and kind of just make you want to say, "life is beautiful, isn't it?" - a totally unbiased review from me, the author.
