Wings flutter in the dark,
Unseen by light-filled eyes.
A sense of discomfort,
a horrified cry.
Yet some are unaffected,
not plagued by fear.
These are the ones whom darkness has touched,
sinking it's claws in their feeble souls.
They walk, daily, into the dark,
a small thread of light connected to their center.
They relish the feel of the wings of the dark,
they welcome their presence with an open heart.
These poor souls have suffered too much,
their-self fragile to the touch.
Their trust impaired,
their hearts ensnared.
The world has let them down,
leaving them with nothing but a frown.
The people they loved were only fakes,
leaving them at the top of the stakes.
These are the lost souls,
misunderstood and shunned.
They dwell in the darkness,
with those inky black wings.
They sink deeper and deeper,
with one partial risk.
Shall they lose their soul completely,
or fight to return to the light?
That is their choice and right,
you should not interfere with this fight.
You can encourage them with all your might,
but still know that they're the ones in the night.
