Nervous Little Mothman

Streetlights shining brightly

twinkling like stars in the night sky.

An owl hoots, a goose honks,

the sounds of nature alive.

Rustling in the bushes, 

the crickets hush.

Whatever could it be?

I was sitting, still as ever,

waiting for this creature,

this beast, monster,

to show face.

I wait… and wait…

And out comes a nervous boy,

a small child, coated in fur

and a small pair of wings

sprouting from his back.

“Who are you?” I shout.

The boy simply stares,

universes in his large eyes,

pooling out and into my hands.

A voice in my head whispers,

no clear words, just sounds.

The animals are silent now,

the world still as the day it was born.

I blink, and he’s closer now.

Bright light blinds my vision,

yet it’s just the street light,

present as ever.

Nothing’s changed but my fear,

and it’s clear the boy feels it.

He doesn’t look at me,

fiddling with his hands instead.

He speaks! His voice,

oh so quiet and sweet.

The animals returned,

chirp chirping and hoo hooing.

“May I… have lamp?”

He questions, sweat on his brow.

His wings shook, eyes downcast,

expression worrisome and pained.

I slide to one side of the bench

under the heavenly street light,

and softly pat the seat beside me.

“Come, sit with me, Mothchild.”