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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.


Just as the first saltwaters wash,


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.

Waiting for the Rain to FallWhere stories live. Discover now