The Wild Hunt

The darkest prison cannot out shine the beauty of radiant light

From within my solitude it, it begins to wash over me,

causing a reaction I can neither interpret or explain,

I just accept

The pain and puzzle it causes makes me wonder just what it is I fight for,

But it hits me, its more than just the physicality of it I desire,

But the thrill of the Wild Hunt,

The simple madness that takes over in which nothing matters but the hunt

It intoxicates and fuels me, that fight for the light

It consumes my being from vibrant daylight into the blood streaked sight of the moon

Yet its never enough, that dark hunt.

It never fills the void that only light holds.

I attempt to mirror her,

The stoic yet warm light,

Always on the tip of my fingers but just out of reach,

Forever taunting me,

"The secrets that you desire are not within the recedes of my light, but your own dark fissures."

She smiles as I loosen my stride, and does what I believe she would not:

She comes closer.

And suddenly I'm in that dark prison again,

But somehow the door is unlocked.

I walk outside, believeing to be bathed in sunlight,

Yet I am only greeted with the familiar sight of my own darkness.

I smile to myself.

Her light will always be a warmth to my cold soul,

But it will never change me.

For just as the wolf howls at the unafflicted moon,

I will always pursue the simple madness of the Wild Hunt