With poetry, I feel that for the author to define what he meant is to limit the reader’s interpretation, so I hesitate to comment on this.
Yet, I will say that this is not addressed to the demonic in any sense; rather a part of myself, or the Divine, or even an ode to death.
The Dark One
When anxious, he gathers me in
promising otherworldly allure
outside all specificity
I honor him in all things
and he follows me everywhere
with eyes dark and tender
Surefooted and steady
threading through trees
I tread his black woods
In his night, I walk in light
in the dawn of understanding
and centered in his gravity.
— Yahia Lababidi, author of
Learning to Pray
