Dark Whispers

 

The night was calm, still,

lit only by a pale moon.

Silent as a century old mausoleum,

as I walked down the unlit path

that takes me on my way.

The fall air, crisp, invigorating,

tasting of apples and burning leaves,

as far off in the distance

one lone owl’s cry

breaks the silence

with it’s mournful question.

The path, never stopping,

never straying,

leads me to a dark wood,

the type of dark, forbidding wood

found in some of the darker fairy tales.

And this dark, dense, expanse of trees

kept me company alongside the path,

as still I ambled ever onward

down the path

that takes me on my way.

Above, something fleeting,

something flying,

passes in front of the moon,

casting a brief, dim shadow

across my shoulders like a shawl.

From the woods, there comes a buzzing,

a syllabic hissing,

dark whispers.

I hear them, the dark whispers,

calling out to me,

always hissing, always softly

speaking poison into my mind,

dripping poison into my soul.

Walking faster, nearly running,

nearly breathless,

trying to escape.

Still the dark whispers, ever calling,

keeping pace by my side,

hissing pleading, buzzing threats,

I cover my ears and run.

Tripping, almost sprawling,

struggle to retain my footing,

but the dark whispers,

never giving up,

continues their dark seduction.

Covering my ears, falling to my knees,

I cry out, “I don’t want to hear!”

but the dark whispers,

sensing my weakness,

press their advantage.

Collapsing, failing,

beaten down and exhausted,

giving in, I relent.

“What,” I cry, “what do you want?”

“What do you have to say?”

“Impart your dark wisdom and be gone,”

I demanded of them,

buffeted and bruised,

destroyed.

The dark whispers paused a moment,

to organize or perhaps to gloat,

then, at my weakest moment,

they spoke.

“Every creature,” they told me,

“every creature on this earth

dies alone.”

That was it, once spoken,

the night became calm again,

I felt the a burden lift off of me,

that I wasn’t aware I was carrying.

Now the darkness seemed less cloying,

the silence more comforting, less fearsome.

I stood, brushed myself off,

looked up at the moon for a while,

it made sense now.

If everyone died alone, then it was clear,

the destination doesn’t matter,

what’s important is the journey.

Back in control I continued,

continued down the path

that takes me on my way.

Author's Note

I know I suck, and my writing is horrible, I know. So please, comment, but refrain from telling me what I already know.