He is a man of the dark
A man consumed by darkness, but is not dark himself.
He walks the empty night streets, he sits alone in the park.
He is a man of the moon, of the odd and unique, of secrets hid on shelves,
the kind aren't hard to keep.
He is rather handsome, but he is of the ugly, of the hard to bare, there are few, only some who see what he sees solemnly, and there are even fewer who care.
I speak of the truth
which so few wish to see
I speak of the precarious balance of life itself.
You see the man, I see his hidden noose.
Life is not just beauty
Existence battles to balance itself.
The man of the dark
has never seen the sun
but craves it's warming rays.
He maybe be of the dark
but he is so much fun
and the warmth of his kindness stays.
He is a gentile spirit
who helps to balance life.
He sacrifices, ungrudgingly, silently.
The man of the dark carries the burden of harsh reality
of pain and of misfortune
But there is one thing that's for certain
he is sad and he has kept it,
his secret dark world,
he is surrounded in darkness
but he is completely separate.