Reverse Midas Touch
Everything glimmering was not gold, it was black onyx. A side effect from the bad luck curse called birth. A desperate touch evaporating the shiny and fresh finish of life. Hands absorbing the goodness replenishing it with shadow.
The smiles are welcoming but the terrified eyes warn. Beware. Run in those fields of stardust and dreams. Run and leap into the stars before the black hole of a soul unwillingly sucks that utopian plant barren. .
Hiding away in the darkest corners feels futile as the light always breaks through. The sunshine seeps through on a mission for self destruction. There is no clash of thunder or spark of lightning; it simply disappears in the presence of the darkness.
The midnight knows the noon deserves better than its emptiness. Yet it cries and yearns for the warmth of the day. It knew the heat of the day once but warmth was chilled to ice.
Black onyx apologies to gold as it slowly grows. Soon no light lives to show the shining beauty of either.
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