Marked

"Marked"

A lunar gloom 

glows through

the cotton clouds above,

   illuminating an otherwise

   deathly deep black sky

   that hovers over the world

   suffocating the light

   we shine

back toward the sky.

The milky white glow

of the moon

shines

as the howls of the night

grow in strength 

from a far off distance,

    And all manners of mystery 

begin

to take shape 

among the shadows of no form.

Fears of every kind 

grow

and splinter through

the fabric of our rationality 

and the ooze of darkness

drips into even the most well lit homes this night.

Tendril fingers of malice and evil 

stretch along all surfaces

as the glow of our lunar orb 

slowly fades and gets swallowed

by the darkness of the night.

Something grows in the black

that hangs above,

Something watches 

as it floats through your windows,

   peeks into your home,

   plants its stains upon your soul,

Stretching equally in every direction,

Reaching for your fears 

as it leaves

you marked 

as it passes,

Letting you know 

   it will return again.

You are not safe from it.

Even in the most secluded of rooms 

with the most well lit lights,

You are not safe 

   as it will come and touch again.

It will find us all 

as it wanders the world

with no purpose

other than to remind us

that we are not safe

and will never be

no matter where we go

as it reminds

that it has no cure.

-Armando Torres