Long after dusk,
in our twilight forest
there lurk shadows,
when the moon is cast out,
I succumb to them.
Some nights I curl up with the willows,
whispering sweet nothings to the crows,
or weeping morning dew on the lilies.
On others I am screaming to the stars,
begging the Sun to rise back up from beyond the treetops.
But even when dawn breaks the horizon,
I still miss Midnight.
For the shadows have found their solace within me when the Sun comes out to play.
Sometimes I succumb to them.
– BIATA, ‘the forest at midnight can be an awfully dark place’