The Moonlight’s Secret
Within the thick rainforest’s living light,
where leaves shimmer with soft emerald light,
there lives a creature no one has seen,
Luminara, the secret of the night.
Its skin is like liquid moonlight,
cool and smooth, tracing patterns only the night knows.
Its wings unfold like glass petals,
translucent, catching every glimmer of the forest’s glow.
It moves without a sound,
a flicker of light between the trees,
as if the forest itself breathes through it.
I tell others about Luminara,
but they don’t believe.
Sometimes, I think it’s more human than I am.
It watches me with a knowing stillness, like it remembers.
Last night, it whispered my name,
not with lips, but through the rustle of glowing leaves,
a breath of warm air that settled on my skin.
I turned, but there was nothing,
only the soft pulse of light fading into the dark,
and the feeling that something unseen
had been waiting, watching, and speaking just for me.
I followed the light,
and it shone brighter, as if it was glad I came.
I reached out,
and the light draped me in shimmering stardust, making me warm and safe,
an endless loop of escaping reality.
As the forest slowly began to fade,
I felt the weight of the choice ahead,
knowing the story wasn’t over,
it was only beginning.
A soft whisper promised change,
and somewhere deep inside, I smiled.
I walked into the fading glow,
where magic awaited, and I was finally home.
Copyright ©
Naima Ybarra
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