It is hideous, but not horrendous.
It is bleak, but not barren.
It might be cruel, but never wild.
It is blind, but not despairful.
It is desolate, but not despicable.
It might be bitter, but hardly a dreader.
It might grow sullen, but hardly grows sour.
It can bring you danger, but not doom.
It can take you to unknowingness, but not to lost.
It can show you the way to gloom, but not the way to Hell.
It is something that lies in the horizon between Faith and Terror.
It is a shelter, decent yet agonizing, without windows and a door.
This is what I call darkness.
This is how darkness happens to be.
Across the silence of its humble look,
I’m always there, perched and calm,
In the middle of a heavy wisp
Shrouded by a dark curtain of gloom.
Yet, it is a gloom, neither wild nor desperate,
As darkness wraps me within its warm compassion
By a quilt of fragile love.
Huddled against its damp walls,
I flow along the spring of hope
With solitude, smelling everywhere.
As darkness spreads its elegant wings
Coated with the jewels of gloom,
A cold touch nips me
Just like a feather, settling with a tender touch,
On a delicate arm.
And I feel, ever so safe and overwhelmed.
BY: Solitary Star