[Istalindir]

Can You Hear It?
Written by Istalindir

The moon is singing.

Loud and beautiful and terrifying in it's intensity. I know it. I hear it. I love it and hate it and yearn for it and dread it. Every day and every night it sings and sings and sings. I can feel it. Behind my eyes and in my head; it's filling me up. It's smooth as silk and hot as fire, burning and caressing and loving and calling. And always, always singing.

When shadow shrouds it's light and dims it's voice, only then do I fear. I do not want to wait for it. To listen with everything that I am, but I do. It is everything. Air and light and love and joy and freedom. I am afraid of the dark and more than that I am afraid of the silence. I wait under a moonless sky and listen. My breath covers it's song, my heartbeat; the pump of blood inside me. I hate and fear those nights.

The moon returns. God and Goddess and Mother and Father and Lover and Brother and Sister. It sings to me. It croons of silver edged shadows and the cool breath of night on my face and of the bliss of total freedom. It cries, too, of blood. Hot and thick and sweet and beautiful. Dark pools that glimmer with ruby light. It screams of prey and death and savage love.

I hate it and I hate myself for my weakness. It will call for me and sing to me and I will listen and heed it. I do not want to. I will tell myself, when the sun is high and the moon no more than a pulsing in my soul, that I will deny it. Deny myself. Deny the joy and freedom and the sweet, sweet blood and death. Deny it all with a knife in my throat and one last sacrifice to the silver devil. I tell myself this. I tremble behind locked doors and cradle my salvation close. Today, I will say, today and today and today.

I am lying. I love it and love what it gives me. It will sing and I will answer. I will run and kill and feast and know no despair. The moon is part of me. To heed it's call and know it's joy is to live, to deny it is to fall into a darkness far worse than death. I need what it brings me. I need it's heat and it's seduction and it's cloying sweetness and it's death and hate and rage. I need it. And I will deny it tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

Ah, those nights when the moon is full and heavy with power. It's singing is loudest then. It reaches into me, it calls to the deepest darkest parts of me. And I answer. Wracking pain and exquisite pleasure. The change is both. Horror embodied in cracking bones and ripping flesh. Pleasure in power and the moon's sweet fire. I am a monster and I am a god. Freedom in moon-glazed madness and joy in the hunt. The sweet taste of naked flesh and the beauty of screaming chaos are mine those nights. I become the demon that haunts the night. The horror men do not speak of.

Intoxication beyond any liquor. Fear and helplessness and hatred and rage. I cause it all. I am the fire that burns hot and bright as hell, leaving behind nothing but ash and sadness. I, too, cause wonder and joy and mystery and delight in things unknown when I run through silver forest in joy and worship. I am bright and I am terrifying. I am the moon's glory and the moon's rage. Yes, I love these nights. I love them and want them and deny them and hate them and fear them.

I love(hate) the moon.

I yearn for(despise) it's call.


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:3 Tell me what you think. And, yes, if anyone is wondering, I have posted this elsewhere. :o At Fictionpress under the name Graykit. I doubt anyone will know of it there. :D But better safe than accused.

[Mini Mule]

This is amazing!!!!! Mind if I ask the meaning? Because the first paragraph makes me think an addiction and the second a relationship. There is clearly confused and unsure feelings and emotions.

[Istalindir]

:3 Not at all. It's a werewolf and his/her feelings towards the moon and transformation.